HR 4r A Mission for M'gol
by slytherinsal
Summary: M'gol, weyrbred, hasn't a clue how the commons think and feel; he is challenged to find out by the pretty Green Rider girl who actually makes him stop and think. Month 9 2521 to 12-22-2521 rated for incidental accidental death.
1. Chapter 1

**Late Autumn 2521 to 12-22-2522**

**Chapter 1**

Thin autumnal sunshine warmed the side of the lake where weyrlings scrubbed young dragonets. The baby dragons were making the most of the wan heat and were generally being uncooperative in attempts to stretch out and bask as much as possible. Little blue Trel, B'lova's firelizard, did his enthusiastic best to help B'lova with Linith, and her friend J'nara with Rillith; the dragonets, like the girls, were best of friends. It was an unlikely seeming friendship for the girls; B'lova the once spoiled daughter of a wealthy Holder and J'nara, sometime drudge and daughter of a poor cotholder. Yet it worked; shared experience had brought the unlikely two together in a firm bond.

Bronze rider M'gol strolled over to watch the weyrlings at work; he liked to take an interest as best friend of the Weyrlingmaster R'gar – next of course to Bronze Laranth and R'gar's weyrmate T'lana! M'gol and R'gar had grown up together, though they were like chalk and cheese. Where R'gar was gruff and uncommunicative, M'gol always had a ready quip and cheerful smile. R'gar was definitely cast in the monogamous role; M'gol had a horror of settling down. Not that his still boyish good looks prevented plenty of girls and women from trying to be the lucky one; his laughing eyes set in a freckled face bespoke his good humour, and the one lock of his soft brown hair that refused to conform and lie flat had countless women trying to smooth it out nicely.

M'gol propped himself up on a rocky projection to look the youngsters over. Not that all of them were so young – he waved to Harper Journeyman T'rin, and was rewarded with a grin and a wave back. The antagonism younger Tyrin had held for M'gol had evaporated with the lad's greater life experience and understanding for M'gol's concern over R'gar's association with the dynamic little T'lana. T'rin was not, in fact, the oldest of the newly Impressed weyrlings; but as a Journeyman, most deferred to him, quite rightly in M'gol's opinion. It was a rank earned, not one born into like the one-time Lady Bellova. M'gol reflected that all in all, the girl had sorted herself out quite well – and her friendship with the older girl J'nara did her no harm. J'nara probably was the oldest of the young riders in her mid twenties; but then, that was a proper sort of age to be putting a girl to a Queen egg, so why not with a Green likewise? Young Rillith certainly was delighted to choose the once diffident young woman for whom Impression had done wonders, drawing her out and visibly increasing her confidence to think that she was considered trustworthy by one of the magnificent creatures she adored! M'gol was amused by the way J'nara had so blossomed from the shy diffident girl who had drudged for T'lana and R'gar into a vocal if still sometimes hesitant member of the group of young female Green Riders. The undisputed leader of the group was, of course, Y'lara, whose Seabred straightforwardness was half feared, half admired by the others, even those like J'nara several turns her senior!

J'nara was rather equivocal in her feelings towards M'gol. He might be the milk-brother of the crusty, but as she well knew, kindly Weyrlingmaster, and a lifelong friend; but sometimes his free and easy ways and the way he never took anything seriously shocked and irritated her a little. Moreover, M'gol had the habit of flirting gently with every pretty girl who crossed his path. He was doing it again! She ground her teeth as M'gol called across to her and B'lova,

"And how are my pretty weyrwomen today?"

Irritated beyond usual, J'nara found the temerity to answer even as B'lova sighed and cast her eyes upward in distain.

"It might be your opinion, Bronze Rider, that I am pretty" said J'nara tartly "To which opinion you are, of course, entitled. But I am not YOUR pretty weyrwoman and nor is B'lova. If we belong to anyone it is to our dragons."

She hugged the neck of green Rillith, concentrating hard on not letting her voice soften as she thought of her dear, dear beloved friend.

"NICE one!" murmured B'lova, approvingly.

M'gol blinked; and he put out a conciliatory hand to lightly touch J'nara'a arm. She stared at it coldly as if it were a tunnel snake until he removed it.

"I apologise for causing offence, J'nara" he said contritely; and meant it. J'nara felt a pang of guilt; but someone had to point it out! He continued, "It was not intentional to be impolite. Just a bad habit, huh?" he grinned at her, the boyish grin that had so many silly women swooning after him, J'nara reflected. She nodded curtly.

"It would be appreciated if you could break the habit, Bronze Rider" she said, formally.

M'gol had never thought that much about J'nara save in passing – beyond approving her personal development and noting that she was a pretty little thing. J'nara had a mass of honey gold hair that she was as yet loathe to cut away for riding, since it was her crowning glory; her face was pale and her green eyes sometimes seemed over large in it. What M'gol had perhaps noticed most was the full and voluptuous figure the young woman had, for he was a great admirer of the shapely. However, it was less her figure than the sparks in her green eyes that intruded off and on into his thoughts! Or maybe, he told himself ruefully, it was the scorched pride from the very firm rejection of even the lightest of flirtation! Could he be getting old? He wondered! For B'lova had backed her friend and had also looked scorn upon him!

B'lova had not perhaps represented all she felt; and she asked J'nara

"Are you hoping to get M'gol?"

J'nara stared in horror.

"Certainly not! What would I want that self opinionated honey bait for?"

B'lova laughed.

"I wondered if you were doing the same as Y'lara did to M'kel – running away until you caught him. Mind, if you don't want him, I might try the same tactics myself – he's kind and considerate by all accounts, and I guess we could do worse, either of us, when Rillith and Linith rise for the first time."

J'nara stared, aghast.

"But that won't be for ages!" she cried. "Isn't it rather early to think of…. Besides, you know several riders quite well!"

B'lova managed a blush at her friend's tactless reminder of her earlier promiscuity.

"There might be worse weyrmates than a nice man like M'gol" she said, blushing again. "And he is handsome."

J'nara snorted.

"You say 'nice' and 'considerate' but he's thoughtless too" she asseverated. "Look at the way he chucks lower cavern women under the chin – he's done it to me! Without even thinking of the consequences, or the feelings of the girls. Besides, how can you think of weyring with him? He is so untidy! Before he moved here for good and was staying with R'gar and T'lan I was always picking up things after him, and all he'd do was toss a careless 'thank you' and pat me on the cheek – one end or the other!" she was seething with indignation. B'lova quirked an eyebrow.

"I see." She said, thoughtfully. J'nara burned.

"You can stop thinking that RIGHT NOW B'lova!" she yelped. The younger girl laughed.

"Of course, dearest J'nara" she agreed; and hugged her friend, reflecting that M'gol had really addled the yolk of her normally placid friend! "And perhaps" she added slyly "You ought to explain to him how much offence he causes without meaning to – he is probably quite unaware!"

J'nara digested this; and nodded. B'lova smiled a managing little smile to herself. Her gentle companion need never fear if she could be fixed up as weyrmate to a good hearted bronze rider!

J'nara decided that M'gol should be tackled; and intercepted him as he left a couple of giggling girls.

"A word, Bronze Rider?" she asked, quaking inwardly at her temerity in calling so senior a person to task. He looked quizzically at her, wondering whether to smile in a friendly manner; but seeing her serious, set face decided to match formality with formality. He recognised the look; it was not unlike that T'lana had worn when she had come to beg him to make up the quarrel he had had with R'gar so many years before. The girl was obviously very serious about something that mattered to her.

"Yes, Green Rider?" he nodded politely as he spoke.

"I am going to be blunt." Her chin went up as she said it.

"Now why am I not surprised?" M'gol murmured to himself, raising an eyebrow. "The influence of T'lan shows, young J'nara" he added dryly.

She flushed and swallowed; but continued.

"Sir, you must know that I have been a menial. And whilst I am sure that some silly girls are flattered by the attentions of a Bronze Rider, as those two obviously are, the way you treat all girls as though they'd welcome your casual caresses is frankly offensive; and reminiscent of the way T'kul's people behaved" she gulped as he stared at her in outrage, but pressed gamely on. "Sir, I know you'd never meaningly hurt anyone because if you were that type, R'gar and T'lana would never call you friend – and you respect the wishes of Green Riders. But even with the high degree of equality we enjoy here at High Reaches, few drudges would dare tell a Bronze Rider that his flirting scares them. But one thing we do have here is autonomy over our own bodies – whatever attitudes may prevail at Benden."

It was a long speech for J'nara, but she was carried away by her feelings. M'gol was left with the feeling of having the wind taken out of his sails; he had been indignant that she seemed to be accusing him of being like T'kul; but it had never occurred to him to question the idea that unwilling girls might not tell him so purely because of his position. Seeing J'nara shaking with nervousness at her own – some would call it damned cheek, he thought – daring in speaking out even after her Impression started to bring home to him the difficulty of communication over social disparity. He took refuge as always in flippancy.

"So have you appointed yourself as guardian of my morals, Green Rider?" he asked, his tone light. J'nara looked at him, biting her lip. His tone was light, but he had brought forward her title, much inferior to his, even though the size of dragons was made less of in High Reaches than in many places. Yet even so, she was not sure he was taking this seriously! She scowled, infuriated that he could do nothing but make joking comments, even if they might contain veiled put downs!

"Sir, no sir" she answered him. "But I've sworn an oath now that I am Impressed to be a Guardian of Pern. Sir, I am sure you never force your body onto anyone, but please will you just stop and consider how oppressive it is for a young girl to attract the attentions of anyone of senior status – whether a Bronze Rider or a member of the Blood? Especially if her family push her to urge him on to enhance their own status. It does happen you know" she added accusingly.

M'gol stopped and considered.

"It had not occurred to me that I might be oppressing anyone" he said shortly.

"Then please think hard, Bronze Rider" she told him sharply. "Try to put yourself in the shoes of those at the lower end of the system. Being too self centered is what leads to people like the Oldtimers – and it lets the dragons down" she finished sincerely before turning on her heel and stalking away. M'gol was left open mouthed at her effrontery; and with a lot to ponder!

Y'lara, witnessing the back end of this exchange, later described M'gol's expression as resembling that of a dying fish. Y'lara approved J'nara'a increased assertiveness, and told her so. J'nara shrugged.

"He has no idea" she said. "He's Weyrbred, son of a dragonrider, always expected to Impress. He has no concept of the uncertainties of life farm labourers and drudges live with. Surely he's a kind man; and he'd never knowingly go with an unwilling girl, and I guess he's clever and experienced enough to know that; but high-ups just don't realise the pressures they put on those below them just by existing!"

B'lova looked thoughtful, reflecting on her earlier life as a self willed little rich girl. It did not make memories of which she was proud.

"You're right" she admitted. "It never occurred to me to ask how chores got done. I only noticed if things were left undone – and I'm afraid I would not have wondered if that was because of illness or problems suffered by the drudges."

"Yes, but B'lova, dear, you were a repellently spoiled brat of a Holder Wench" Y'lara's uncompromisingly tactless comment cut in. B'lova blushed and grinned ruefully.

"True, Y'lara – but even so, it is not encouraged for a Lady to question such things" she pointed out. "And a Bronze Rider is due a lot of respect – rightly, because they bear the brunt of Threadfall. But I guess it's kind of easy to start expecting it, expecting a degree of deference that goes beyond respect for their position and the job they do. I think that's what J'nara was saying."

J'nara nodded.

"I think it's probably easy for any dragonrider to get a bit bumptious" – here she was cried down with derisive comments over the very concept of J'nara being associated with bumptiousness – "but it's worse for the weybred of long lineage. Like for B'lova as one of the Blood. Or L'rilly for that matter. And before you start teasing me about it. Y'lara, I know I've been presumptuous in raising this subject at all" - Y'lara made an indelicate noise concerning presumption – "But I think M'gol has a right to know how his behaviour could be perceived, as much as lower cavern women have a right to avoid his dubious attentions."

M'gol, who had come in search of J'nara to ask further clarification of her comments found that he had got them; and found that eavesdroppers rarely hear good of themselves; or at least rarely hear anything comfortable. He reflected that serious J'nara was probably one of the few women around who could tick someone off with their own good in mind as well as to make a point!

M'gol made a point of sitting next to J'nara at lunch next day.

"So it appears I am in some respects quite ignorant" he began bluntly. "Perhaps, then, you should enlighten me, J'nara."

J'nara flushed, choked, and lost herself in several half sentencrs before managing,

"Bronze Rider, I did not mean it like that. But you have only had one viewpoint. That is all."

He smiled a little grimly and ran a hand through his brown hair, making the unruly lock on the top stand up even straighter. J'nara looked at it irritably and busied her hands elsewhere with food. He was not a little boy and he did NOT need neatening. M'gol said,

"But surely if I only have one viewpoint, it is your duty to enlighten me as to others?" he quirked an eyebrow. J'nara's expression froze in severity. Sometimes, she thought, M'gol relied too heavily on his repertoire of lost little boy expressions!

"Bronze rider, I thought I did enlighten you" she said, sounding surprised.

He sighed.

"But it was only a basic introduction. It seems that there is a whole world out there that I am missing."

She looked up from the meat roll she had just broken into.

"You truly want to know?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Then leave Luruth in R'gar's care next time there is a decent interval – or, like now, Thread is freezing out of the sky. Then hire on as a labourer. You will not see all the abuses, though you will hear plenty when people talk more freely in front of you as they discuss their so-called betters amongst themselves. But you'll have to learn to lose the arrogant stride and cast your eyes down or you'll earn a few beatings for sure."

He stared.

This girl never ceased to take him aback!

"That's it?" he asked

"That's it. Only I suggest that you should take with you someone who knows what it's like. To help stop you taking too many beatings for insolence."

He blinked.

"But I'm not insolent."

She laughed; and laugh had just a bit of an edge to it.

"You answer with your eyes to those who question you. You do not look at your feet. Will you always remember to say 'sir' to some inadequate who happens to be the gang master? Can you take being called a lazy oaf as a matter of course? Will you refrain from quarrelling with your – betters – when you know them to be wrong? Would you look too admiringly at the wrong woman? There are countless ways the commons can be insolent, Bronze rider" she told him quietly. "Even by being in the wrong place at the wrong time can earn a beating. Remember, most higher ups do not even SEE drudges – it's what T'lana relied on at Nabol Hold when she was escaping from Meron – but be out of place and they'll notice soon enough and put you back in it with shoe leather."

M'gol was shocked.

"I knew there were always those who abused the system…" he said.

J'nara shrugged.

"That's not abuse, M'gol, that's normal" she laughed, almost scornfully. "Why do you think so many people want to drudge here at the Weyr? Since the new regime came, even being pulled over by heavy handed bronze riders is preferable to continual beatings and not infrequent rape. And in addition to a husband, there might be the fine attentions of an overlord."

M'gol blinked again.

"Husbands beat and rape?" he gasped incredulously. "But if they love their wife…"

"What has love to do with marriage?" asked J'nara. "I often wonder if the myth that Weyrs are terrible immoral places is promulgated to stop a steady stream of girls leaving their holds! Love is for Harper Hall tales for many – and the wealthy. Except that it isn't much for them either." She added ungrammatically. "Marriage is a means to consolidate position; or a means to get rid of daughters who aren't strong enough to work so hard on a cothold as a son. It's difficult to feed mouths that can't add as much to the family economy. Wives breed – it's what they're there for. Daughters eat. However fond you may be of them, they drain the family cookpot for no gain if they have no craft. And wives are chosen to be good carers in the home with good hips. If affection grows between a couple, that's nice. But love matches would not be the subject of Harper tales if they were the norm."

M'gol was horrified.

"So they prefer heavy handed bronze riders – if that was me you meant?" he asked, unsure what else to say. J'nara recognised this descent into flippancy as a cover for his consternation and she grinned involuntarily at his comically injured look. It made her whole face look quite impish as she reflected that she was not immune to ALL his repertoire of boyish looks.

"I may have exaggerated somewhat about the attentions of such." She admitted. "But I've told you how I feel about your stale chat up lines."

M'gol had never thought of his technique as stale and was taken aback.

"Was the rest exaggeration?" he asked.

She was serious.

"No, M'gol" she said. "I never got married – I ran away to the Weyr before I could be wed to a worthy man, well thought of, who was sure he'd be able to rid me of the sort of dragon loving nonsense a farmer's wife has no need of. Doubtless he would have meant any punishment for my own good – but I doubt that would have made me like it the better" she finished dryly.

M'gol ground his teeth audibly. J'nara flushed, not displeased, and went on.

"If you want to know about husbands, ask A'ira. Her Clom only beat her when he was drunk: and she reckoned him a good husband and provider until he killed himself. There are plenty of husbands who are kind in an offhand way; but it's not strange, Bronze Rider."

M'gol was very disturbed in his mind; and he spent several days asking questions of lower cavern staff of recent origin, as well as of A'ira. Fortunately, most of the women he questioned had settled in sufficiently to the relaxed attitude of High Reaches Weyr and were more flattered than worried by questions from a Bronze Rider. Even so, Keerana did speak sharply to M'gol for upsetting some of her staff over memories best discarded. He took the rebuke well; and seemed very thoughtful.

A'ira was a little more forthright in her gentle way.

"You have to understand, Bronze Rider" she told him "that women outside the weyr are at the mercy of their menfolk – fathers, brothers, husbands or the kin of their husbansds. All to protect us helpless creatures." She shuddered, briefly, remembering how scared she had briefly been when she ran into her dead husband's brother scant days before. Briefly she explained to M'gol how Coram had assumed the right of effective ownership of her and her children, threatening them with harsh discipline and promising to make her drudge for him as she had been 'devalued' by having been to the weyr.

M'gol was horrified. He asked,

"Could this Coram do that? If you had not been Impressed?"

A'ira shrugged.

"Maybe not, in law. I don't know. But by common practice, yes. Women are brood mares and drudges to many. I think that in this harsh climate it might be harder for women than where survival is easier" she admitted. "no one can afford free loaders; but women are supposed to be both modest and in need of protection. Is it then surprising that the culture institutionalises an attitude despising women?" she went on, "male children are an asset. Female ones are, only if they make a good marriage. I think too that Craftbred girls are better off" she added objectively, her smmoth chestnut head on one side as she considered. "Especially those permitted a craft of their own. Even so there is little equality of status."

M'gol had much food for thought; and, he reflected that the attitude towards women extended, though more covertly nowadays, towards weyrwomen. The insolence towards Lessa at the beginning of the Pass still made him wince Still, there was much to learn – and he determined that he would learn it. No flaxen haired chit would then be able to call him ignorant – not that that had any bearing on his decision. Evidently he was failing in his duty as a protector if he did not know what things people needed protection against. That was why he had to find out!

8


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After cogitating for several days, brooding and inactive as the cold weather froze Thread black and crumbling from snow laden skies, M'gol sought out T'rin. T'rin liked and respected M'gol and had been pleased when he had transferred from Benden to be near R'gar again. However, as M'gol spoke, T'rin blinked and stared in disbelief as the man outlined not only his concerns but his plans to follow up J'nara's suggestion.

"so you see" M'gol explained "As you have lived Holdless – and at the Harper Hall doubtless learned to play a part anyway – I thought you could give me advice about how to appear as a labourer."

T'rin hooted with derision.

"You, M'gol? You'll never do it!"

M'gol bridled.

"Why not?" he asked curtly. T'rin chuckled.

"A Weyrbred bronze rider from Benden? Lower his eyes before an inadequate in charge of his work team – or even a cotholder? Don't make me laugh!" he snorted. "You'd lose your rag in double quick time and curse someone to the Red Star and back, and then there'd be trouble – for you'd either have to take your stripes like any other of us low born scum or else confess who you were. And THAT" he added grimly "Would bring trouble to T'bor over why his dragonmen should be spying on the commons. For that's how it would be perceived" he warned.

M'gol had not considered the last point. He grimaced

"I could try being very careful." He suggested.

"Wherry teeth" opined T'rin good naturedly. "You were BORN to be proud. How can you forget it? If you did go, it would have to be with a minder. And I can't because Renpeth is still too much a baby" he put in, chagrined. "Esruth is still a little young to accept long separation from D're, though I guess you could go for days out with him. D're is the only really knowledgeable person around here, and I'd not let H'llon out of the Weyr without a lead."

M'gol was hurt by the choice of the word 'minder' for all the world as though his wits were **between**; but the comment about H'llon struck him as harsher.

"hold on, T'rin" he said. "H'llon strikes me as a very steady young man."

"He is" asseverated T'rin. "And I count him a good friend. But he's craftbred and about as naïve as they come. Besides, he's got a fine sense of justice. In a Bronze Rider that's good – in fact he's more or less what they had in mind when Bronze Riders got invented. If he were acting the labourer, what trouble you didn't get in, he would. Besides, who ever heard of a common labourer with four firelizards?"

M'gol had to admit the justice of the last remark; and reflected that T'rin had a point with the other. H'llon was known to wade in regardless to break up anything he regarded as bullying; and if things were indeed as bad in some places as people had been suggesting that might be a bad idea!

"Is it as bad as they say?" M'gol asked. T'rin shrugged.

"It is bad in places" he said. "Mostly it's a case of people not wanting to get involved with people who are not their own, or who are different; so it comes across as really callous. It's just that there's only a limited amount of resources and most folk can't afford extras or freeloaders. Society stands on a knife edge because of the ongoing threat of Thread. One of the expressions of the way we survive that is by having a very rigid society. This involves everyone knowing their place and staying there. Anyone who steps outside of that is a potential threat: and most people react to threats with violence,"

"It's that simple?" asked M'gol surprised.

"Hardly simple" T'rin told him dryly. "The precise way any one person reacts can never be described as simple. But that's the simplified reason."

M'gol wondered at the depth of understanding of people that even young Harpers acquiredin their training! T'rin went on,

"Look, why don't you talk to T'lan? She's usually good for bright ideas."

M'gol nodded; it seemed a good idea.

T'lana heard M'gol out; and managed not to laugh.

"It would perhaps" she mused "be GOOD for some of you weyrbred types to see how the other half live. Equally" she added "It would be good to have some young people from the Holds visit and get to understand dragons and dragonfolk better" she frowned thoughtfully. "For that I should have to speak to people like Deckter and Bargen and Lord Groghe. It's a possibility for the future. Meantime, I think you'd do better to go out with the knowledge of someone in a position of authority who can keep half an eye out for you to cover up any, er, problems."

M'gol flushed. From being a scrubby brat who had stood trembling before him to beg him to make up his quarrel with R'gar, T'lana had grown into an assured young weyrwomanwho somehow left him feeling like one of her weyrlings! T'lana smiled brightly at him.

"Well, it's no good pretending that you're going to find grovelling to people easy, is it?" she asked.

He pulled a face.

"T'lan, bless you, at least you're the first person that hasn't told me that I can't do it!" he declared. "Even if you might be thinking it."

She shrugged.

"I think you can do it – for a short while. You won't find it easy – but I recall telling you once that the best things in life seldom are; and you concurred. That pride of yours will make you refuse to give up and be beat."

M'gol nodded, grinning to himself as he recalled that conversation in which she had inadvertently compared R'gar as one of life's good things to Benden wine. He told her,

"I can do it. And if I speak out of turn and get beaten, I can take pain. Shards, Thread causes plenty of that, and we've all suffered it."

T'lan touched his face affectionately.

"It's not the pain, dear one" she explained gently, using the affectionate term she usually reserved for those she considered her family or dependants. "It's the humiliation" she added. "It's like when those renegades…" she choked and broke off, clenching her fists at her sides, remembering how she had submitted to rape almost three turns before in order to save her friends from abuse and to prevent the desperate men from using their crossbows on their dragons at that fateful spring picnic. M'gol patted her awkwardly on the shoulder; and she gave him a brittle smile.

"Try not to get in a situation where you could be beaten, M'gol" she advised dryly.

"I was not intending so to do" he assured her.

"You need someone with you. Someone practical and knowledgeable" she frowned. "Pity Esruth's not a bit older. He might take a prolonged absence from D're, but not with L'rilly being extra loving to him to help him cope. I'd not ask that of the poor little fellow" she grinned. "I love L'rilly like a sister – but she's a little, uh, volatile. And she's worried about something right now too – nothing that's any of your business – and as she's being unwontedly calm about it I suspect she'd more concerned than she'd like anyone to know.." She pulled a wry face. Although L'rilly took many of her troubles now to her weyrmate D're, T'lana still found herself receiving the brunt of the blonde weyrwoman's more vocal troubles.. T'lan poured a mug of klah from the insulated jug that sat warming on the small metal stove she had installed in her and R'gar's day weyr. "If we knew where D're's family were right now, maybe we could have asked his brother or uncle, for he speaks of them with affection despite them dumping him after his accident. Still, we must work with who we do have." She took several turns about the room, striding about restlessly; and M'gol's mouth twitched at the mannerisms she unconsciously copied from R'gar. She continued, "R'cal is steady, but not, um, amenable to take any crackdust from anyone lacking in a modicum of common sense…"

M'gol chuckled. Blue Camnath's rider would tell anyone up to and including the Weyrleader if he disagreed with them.

"What about Z'kan?" suggested T'lana, wheeling round to face M'gol as the idea struck her. The Bronze rider frowned thoughtfully, considering the Oldtimer who regularly made clandestine visits to his daughter at High Reaches; and who had just become the lover of T'lana's cousin Z'linda when Zith had risen for the second time two days before.

"He is craftbred not weyrbred" he said.

"And he has spent time pretending to be a marksman for the Smithcraft Hall when he was looking for a safe place for Zaira" added T'lana. "He's practical, and he has shown he can play a part. If he acted the itinerant smith, I've just the person in mind for you to work under – and you'll be able to go to the High Reaches Winter Gather which would give you the opportunity to see a whole cross section of life!"

T'lana sought out J'nara – and had the whole story from the girl. J'nara was horrified that M'gol had taken her seriously.

"He doesn't do serious!" she complained. "And now he is – just because I was feeling tetchy!"

T'lan lifted an eyebrow and J'nara wrinkled her nose.

"His permanently flirtatious pose irritates me somewhat anyway" the girl shrugged. "And his expectation that girls like it. It so happened that he caught me at THAT time anyway and I flew at him breathing fire" she sighed. "I never thought he'd actually DO what I suggested, he's such a baby really, he'd get into trouble."

T'lana found an interesting spot on her left hand to gaze firmly at. As she contained her sudden mirth.

"He seems to have made up his mind" she managed to sound quite serious. "And he's not such a babe as you think. All that boyishness is just an act, you know. He's as close as R'gar in his own way – only R'gar goes gruff and M'gol acts the fool. I daresay" she added with her tongue firmly in her cheek "If he could only find a really good woman he'd feel less insecure. He's afraid, you know, of being trapped into a de facto commitment by some harridan who is more interested in the colour of his dragon than the quality of his personality."

J'nara blushed deep crimson.

"His status does count with some people." She said dryly. "And their parents."

M'gol was still avoiding the attentions of a rather silly vapid girl whose mother determinedly waylaid him. T'lana laughed.

"At least you've relaxed from being tongue-tied and respectful to all dragonmen, dear one" she said. "M'gol's a big boy now; and you're quite right to send him about his business and tell him to learn the facts of life. The boyish pose will lose its charm with the first grey hair he sports. And I know there's a lot more to him than that flippant exterior" she added seriously. J'nara nodded, burning. She had noticed that M'gol was one of those people who was always there to help out whenever anyone needed it, without pulling rank at all. She worried though about T'lana's comment about herself.

"I should be more respectful, I know" she ventured. "I think perhaps I've relaxed too much because so many ranking people are kind to me."

"Fardles!" T'lan snorted. "Diffident does NOT become a dragonrider. Bronze riders deserve respect because they take the most risk because their dragons are bigger and stronger and can afford to do so. But that's respect for their bravery and capability. It has nothing to do with social interaction. Whatever Bronze riders from other weyrs might think. M'gol transferred here; he must have liked the atmosphere. So he'll have to live with the way we do things!"

J'nara thought about T'lan's words: but she still sought out M'gol to remonstrate.

"Bronze Rider, have you wherries loose in your top paddock?" she asked him bluntly. She had meant to approach him more respectfully and make a gentle protest; but the sight of him and his ridiculous tuft of hair that would not stay down sent all her resolves **between**. M'gol raised an eyebrow.

"Why, weyrwoman, I thought it right and proper to do as you suggested!" he said facetiously.

J'nara actually stamped her foot!

"I apologise for issuing a foolish challenge!" it did not sound much like an apology. "It was improper of me" she worked on softening her tone. "I was irritated. I did not expect you to go through with it. It would be no dishonour to back away from such a hasty, ill considered challenge."

"Oh, but it would, green rider" he said gravely. "You have opened my eyes to a lack in myself. I could not live with myself if I did not follow it through" there was no mistaking the unaccustomed note of sincerity in his voice.

"But…weyrbred people are so sheltered" she whispered. "You could get hurt…" a tear gathered at the corner of one eye.

"Then I shall have to grow up quick, shan't eye?" he began cheerfully; then caught sight of the tear, and took her chin gently in his hand. "Do you mean you actually do care if I get into trouble?" he asked, wonderingly. J'nara swallowed hard.

"I – I care about risking a good Bronze Rider for a stupid bet" she managed.

"Not for my own sweet sake?" the tone was his usual light hearted teasing one; but there was something serious in his eyes .J'nara twitched her chin free.

"Not in that mood, no." she said tartly. "I like you, M'gol, when you're not playacting at being Pern's greatest gift to women."

"Will you at least wish me luck?"

"I'd rather you backed down."

"So you DO care?"

"Don't delude yourself!" she snapped; and stalked off.

M'gol grinned. J'nara was known as 'Gentle J'nara' for her usually placid and kind disposition. Her reactions to the Bronze Riser were suggestive that her apparent indifference might just not be true!

Why would she hide it? Wondered M'gol. She had never shown disapproval of weyr attitudes to casual love. Then it struck him, and he groaned! At this time his reputation was against him – he was perceptive enough to realise that J'nara was probably trying to fool herself more than him – so as not to get hurt!

T'lana had a very good idea of how to help M'gol achieve his goal; but as Mirrith was egg heavy she had to wait until the little Queen dragon had taken herself into the hatching cavern and laid twenty seven beautiful – as T'lana assured her – eggs. Mirrith was quite happy to leave her eggs for short periods, and was even amenable about flying Threadfall when it occurred. Although she took some proprietorial interest in her eggs, she took more notice of the dragonets and their Impressed partners after hatching. As T'lan was wont to say, Mirrith never did anything the usual way about! In the meantime, T'lana spoke to Z'kan and found him amusedly willing to take on the task of looking out for M'gol . She ran some ideas past the Oldtimer, and they hammered out a plan to present to M'gol as a fait accompli once T'lana had ascertained that the placement she had in mind would be available. Then all she had to do was wait for Mirrith to the Winter Gather was a little over a sevenday away when T'lan directed Mirrith to land at runner owner Tragen's large Runner Hold. She was careful not to overfly the nervous beasts and landed downwind, a courtesy which was appreciated by the dour holder. However, as she released the cascade of auburn hair from her flying cap, he was not surprised; for he had learned to respect the young queenrider who had cleared up the mystery of the organised race fixing and had exposed the rogues who had so callously let a runner suffer.

T'lana started to come towards Tragen, but got diverted to greet the mare Darkstar. Carrot appeared from T'lana's pocket and the grim faced holder's expression relaxed into a half smile. He appreciated the girl's love of runners – he himself preferred the beasts to humans, one reason he had never re-married after his wife's death, though the union had been fruitless. He had yet to find a woman who shared his passion sufficiently. It was, he reflected, ironic; he knew T'lana's foster father, though not well, and he might have considered approaching Sarel over a union with his daughter had she not been so young when she disappeared! Obviously she was more suited to dragons even than runners; which Tragen felt to be a bit of a waste, for she was a good girl, and someone he might even think of as a friend. Not like the determined young widow Zeleika whom he had met at Nabol Hold Gather, and who was determinedly pursuing him. The girl plainly viewed runners as no more than a means of transport or a source of income, for all the world as though they were fat porcines! Tragen left that unsatisfactory line of thought alone to smile at and greet T'lana.

"Well met, Weyrwoman!" he said, extending his right hand palm up in greeting. It was not a full extension; belatedly he wondered if dragonfolk felt themselves too far above him for such courtesies. T'lana dispelled his concern by taking his hand in her firm, boyish grip, smiling in pleasure as at meeting an old friend.

"Tragen! Good to see you again! How is Darkspeed?" she asked after the mare who had been disguised as her sister Darkstar and forced to run though she suffered from joint ail. Lord Bargen had awarded the ailing mare back to Tragen as a brood mare and because he knew that the crusty holder would see her well cared for. Tragen smiled his thin smile in genuine amusement at T'lana's priorities.

"She is much improved, thank you Weyrwoman. The fish oil you were kind enough to send helped, inside and out – though getting her to swallow it until I devised a pill was – interesting!"

T'lan chuckled.

"Master Oldive came across a reference to its use when looking up old records to treat a child my friend fosters. He was born with a kind of joint ail, and a condition the records suggest was first described in a dragon. Our elderly, be they human or dragon, certainly appreciate it!"

"I imagine it must be very different riding a dragon to riding runners!" he remarked, making polite conversation. T'lana considered the question seriously, her head on one side.

"Yes – but perhaps for some people maybe less yes than you'd think." She said cryptically. Tragen looked questions at her and she hurried on, "I hear all dragons – and I think that I communicate a little with runners. They always seem to trust me, anyway." She did not mention her ability to hear human thoughts; most people found that altogether too unsettling. In truth, she had never considered her ability to gentle runners before, thinking it quite natural; but it was a logical extension of her powers. The human thought had been so much more coherent, it had been that she had noticed most in her early years. She went on, "there are many manifestations of strange abilities – people who can predict Thread, or storms, or" she grinned "Can pick out the colours of dragonets before they hatch." D're and H'llon were busy getting ready to take K'len and his book on Mirrith's clutch; K'len had still not worked out how it was done and thought the last time had just been a fluke! She continued, "It would not be strange to me to learn of those who have such a close communication with runners that even if it is not Impression, it gives some idea. "

Tragen gave her an old fashioned look.

"Did you know?" he asked bluntly. She shook her head.

"It was a fair guess. You were unhappy about that race and I figured you were puzzled because you were getting the wrong feel of thoughts. But I suspect you can only communicate properly when you are touching a runner?" she asked. He nodded.

"And only if I concentrate hard." He affirmed. "I can also get clues if a beast is ill, what is wrong."

T'lana grinned.

"It helps then to further my quest."

He laughed, a touch of irony in it.

"Yes, I should have asked what it was you wanted, weyrwoman!" he said. "Will you tell me over klah?"

"I'd be delighted. I've been meaning to come out and ask after Darkspeed anyway, so I'm not just after something!"

"Weyrwoman, I owe you a favour for your – logicating, Lord Bargen called it. I'm more than happy to do you any favour."

T'lana laughed.

"Hear what it is before you promise that!" she teased.

Seated in the warm with a steaming mug of excellent klah she formulated her thoughts.

"I think it important that there should be more contact between weyr and hold, to avoid the sort of misunderstandings that all too frequently arise. I'd like to see extended visits from youngsters both ways. This all arose because my man's milk brother is weyrbred from Benden, a Bronze Rider." She explained. "He's one of these men who women go for; he never has to go searching to get someone to warm his furs. It's a measure of his good character that he's remained nice despite it."

Tragen nodded.

"There are always men like that." He agreed. "Most of them are big 'I-Am's', but the occasional one occurs with a sweet disposition than women like to mother. Nine out of ten women fall for them whichever of the two types they are, and the tenth slaps his face."

"Well she didn't quite do THAT" said T'lana "but she told him off for his easy manner with women and his excessive compliments. She pointed out that those who didn't know better would take a compliment as an order to his bed. She told him to get his act together and go see it like it really is, where people feel pressured from above. To get in touch with those he's supposed to be protecting."

"Forthright girl." Commented Tragen.

"Yes, but usually she isn't. and he took it to heart. I think they've both got a serious case – but it could be good for M'gol and the weyr too to follow it up even if he does cause problems.." She effected a mock groan. "and I've found a steady craftbred rider to go with him; but I need a good master who'll be tolerant of the deficiencies in two itinerant workers with relatively little idea. Z'kan is a competent smith, if your own smith would not take offence at having an outsider do his work during the High Reaches Gather. I thought there'd be nothing like it to show a good selection of people, bad masters and good, and the general apathy that makes up the majority of all walks of life, the sort of apathy you don't get in any working weyr because we can't afford it. We are a fighting machine from the weyrleader to the youngest drudge, and all he knows is that camaraderie."

Tragen nodded.

"My smith is getting on in years." He said. "He'd be quite glad of an excuse not to make the trip this time.. And besides" he added "If your man travels with us to the big Hold he'll learn a lot about just general details about how hard life can be for some – the sort of details they'd never even consider repeating in front of dragonfolk, however caring they may seem. Or indeed, any figures of authority."

"Yet your people seem relaxed – no, that's not the right word. On their toes, but comfortable. I imagine they talk to you about problems."

He smiled thinly.

"Partly because they know I bawl them out more for keeping me under shutters. They know that although I'm not a soft touch, I do care; and my discipline is taut. Most folk like to know where they are. Too much laxity is as bad as tyranny, because it allows the bullies to exert their influence."

She nodded thoughtfully.

"I knew I had picked wisely." She declared. "You can tell it from the way your runners react. They're very sensitive to atmosphere. Not that I've yet given you a chance to refuse!"

"Refuse? I think it's an excellent idea. Mind, I'll not accept any slacking from your pair of precious rascals!" he warned.

"They do know how to work. There's more to riding a dragon than swanning around looking handsome, you know. And fighting Thread is just a part of it." She told him.

"No offence, I hope?"

"None at all taken. You need to know that they are capable of heavy work, not effete prettyboys. Do I take it that you agree?"

"Wholeheartedly, weyrwoman." He asseverated. "On one condition."

She tilted her head queryingly and he suggested,

"Send several riders who are in the know to the Gather to keep a discrete eye out for your men – and for trouble."

T'lana nodded; it was a good suggestion!

16


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tobari had returned home after his sister J'nara's Impression to tell the news to their parents. Although J'nara had not gone to the Weyr with their blessing – in fact the reverse – he hoped for a reconciliation. M'kel and Vorth had given him a lift home, and M'kel was a sufficiently soft touch to be persuaded to drop in at regular intervals to see if Tobari had yet persuaded his parents to visit their daughter.

It had taken several months for Tobari to wear down the objections of Jenar and Tobeela – mostly Jenar – by which time his father raised the objection that they could scarcely go in midwinter. Fortuitously, Vorth dropped in within days of this conversation, with a legitimate excuse in the form of an order for glassware from Tobari. Y'lara had been suffering from advice from T'chal in case their inadvertent mating flight had resulted in pregnancy; and Y'lara had taken out some of her frustration on the fixtures. Tobari was delighted, and packed his tools to undertake any work the weyr might need; and hustled his parents into coming along before they had a chance to change their minds. Thoughtful Vorth warned Rillith of their impending arrival so that J'nara should be prepared; and it was a self contained young woman who met her parents, both subdued from the – for them – terrifying experience of a journey dragonback. Her father chose to go on the offensive to cover his confusion.

"Your brother told us a cock and bull story that you're happy" he said. "Of course I understand you'd put a brave face on it. But you can tell us the truth."

J'nara mentally counted to ten.

"The truth? Father, learn to recognise it! When I made up stories about people I cleaned for based on clues among their possessions you used to say that I was more convinced by the lies I told myself than by reality. If that was so at all, it's clear I get it from you, father. You don't even want the truth. You believe a lie about the weyrs that you've convinced yourself of and you want me to be unhappy to fit in with your perceptions. Well, you'll just have to be disappointed – because I am happy. No one has raped or hurt me. The only one who tried" she grinned suddenly "was a visitor to the weyr, a snotty little brat with a passing relationship to the Blood. My friends here rescued me." She looked her father in the eye. "And I'd have been as likely to meet him out of the weyr as in it, without the protection of weyr rules that gives all women the choice. If Tobari had caught him hurting me back at the cothold, even if cotholder Jarick" she named the man her father worked for "witnessed it, they'd not have dared interfere because he would have outranked them.. here I have protection! So, please, father, do what you recommended to me – try to live in the real world."

Jenar had never heard his diffident daughter make such a long speech before – or such a forceful one! Outrage and shock chased across his face and her mother goggled, open mouthed.

"You've changed, Jenara" she whispered.

J'nara nodded

"And in many ways, mother. Like it's J'nara now, not Jenara. Women at High Reaches contract too. As a dragonrider – however junior – I've had to learn to assert myself and to value myself" she touched her mother's arm. "The other weyrwomen have helped me to find a sense of self worth, to find that I have value as a person. And I have to believe that, or else why would Rillith have chosen me!" joy suffused her face as she glanced over at the little dragon.

Jenar gazed in wonder at the happiness in his daughter's face, transforming it into beauty; but he shook his head doubtfully.

"Aye, you may be happy now – or think you are!" he growled bitterly. "But when that creature is mature you'll be raped every time she mates."

J'nara shook her head, laughing.

"Besides other possible safeguards, I should think I'll find a weyrmate before that happens – for rider wishes have a great deal to do with it" she told him firmly. "Contrary to popular belief, most dragonriders practise monogamy. And even if I do not find someone I want to share my life with, there are ways to avoid too much physical involvement if you do not want to let your dragon choose. Think, father! There have to be ways to protect the really little boys who Impress Greens – for some of them are scarce thirteen turns when their dragon rises for the first time. And there are those who are just not that way inclined even when they are full grown. And here at least people will discuss problems and concerns with you, not hide them away to fester because they are called 'dirty' and thereby making them much worse!"

J'nara knew that she was not going to convince such hidebound people as her parents; she had seen the look of disgust her mother had given S'net and B'kas as they wandered across the snowy bowl hand in hand, but she had to try. And although her father looked sceptical, there was a measure of relief on her mother's face.

"Have you anyone in mind for a husband dear?" she asked tentatively.

"No – not yet" said J'nara: but she looked down and she blushed.

"You mean he's someone we'd disapprove of" her father spoke disapprovingly.

J'nara blushed again.

"N-no" she muttered. "I d-don't really have anyone in mind…" she dug the toe of her boot into the snow. "only – well, no, not really."

B'lova had drifted over to rescue her friend if necessary. She had dressed up more than had become her wont, fully prepared to use her rank if Jenar started blustering and shouting at J'nara. Fortunately the weyr seemed to overawe him somewhat. B'lova put an arm around the tongue-tied J'nara.

"You need have no worries about your daughter, Tobeela." She said firmly. "J'nara has a perfectly good suitor in the offing: she's just making up her mind if SHE disapproves of him."

J'nara gave her friend a fulminating look. B'lova gave an almost imperceptible shrug and mouthed to her that mothers had to have SOME information J'nara, burning, muttered

"I don't DISapprove of him. He's just got some irritating habits."

Her mother beamed at her and said reassuringly,

"ALL men have irritating habits! We just have to live with their little foibles." She seemed unaware of the glare her husband gave her. "I would so like to see you respectably established, dear. Thank you for telling me, my lady!" She curtsied as she addressed the last to B'lova.

B'lova looked horrified, but shrugged and laughed.

"J'nara's trying to cure his irritating habits before she decides if she wants him." She said. "Aren't you, m'dear?" J'nara glowered at her silently. Tobeela asked,

"He – he is respectable, is he, er, my lady?"

B'lova chuckled.

"If you think that a steady, well thought of Bronze Rider Wingleader is respectable, then yes. And my name's B'lova. I'm only a scrubby weyrling, really. J'nara and I Impressed together, so I'm not a full blown weyrwoman yet any more than she is. At least to family and friends. Naturally, we'd insist on the courtesy title outside the Weyr" she slipped an arm through J'nara's, firmly emphasising to the girl's parents that their daughter had Rank now.

Jenar blinked.

"Are you saying that my daughter holds status and should be called weyrwoman?" he asked incredulously. B'lova nodded emphatically.

"She is Impressed. I thought Tobari told you."` said B'lova , patiently.

Jenar swallowed.

"I suppose it did not sink in….You mean, weyrwoman" – he chose to ignor B'lova's offer of her name in case she changed her mind over making them free with it – "that, if she's protected during her, er, her dragon's, er, flight, she –she's safe from anyone else? Even other riders? Not like in the old days?"

B'lova nodded.

"And of course it was true before she Impressed, too" she emphasised. "T'bor is rightly very strict with the concept that people should make their own choices" she shrugged. "There are those who choose to have many lovers. Society here does not make judgement on that, though eyebrows are raised if someone is too indiscriminate. Generally, it seems that people are only promiscuous if they are unhappy people. It can be seen as a substitute for love" she thought of her own early days in the weyr and pulled a face. "it's better to stop wasting time and wait for love to find you" she said, a little wistfully.

"D-do you have a man then?" asked Tobeela. B'lova shook her head.

"I'll find someone sometime" she said philosophically. "And I get on well enough with enough Blue and Brown riders that I'm not going to worry about Linith rising."

J'nara's parents looked faintly shocked; and B'lova patted her friend's arm to beat a hasty retreat as J'nara led them firmly off to find refreshment.

J'nara was drinking klah and seeing that her parents were well fed when M'gol entered the eating cavern. He was dressed in non-descript clothes, old and well patched, but with a wher hide jacket over all and his usual boots. Looking around he soon saw J'nara and sauntered over.

"Well, green rider, I'm off on my quest" he said. "Do I look sufficiently disreputable to be a travelling casual labourer?"

J'nara looked him up and down and scowled.

"You are a fool, M'gol. I TOLD you not to take me at my word. You'll never pull it off, and if Luruth ends up going **between** because of it, I'll never forgive myself – or you!" she shouted at him. "And no, you DON'T look the part! Your boots are too fine, every bully you meet will insist you hand them over. And a wherhide jacket? You want to look as though you're made of marks?"

Tears threatened and she sniffed hard. M'gol dropped into the chair beside her and took her hand. She stiffened but did not remove it.

"It's all right – I'm shedding the jacket after T'lan drops Z'kan and me off. You see, she's arranged me a baby sitter." He smiled at her as she looked surprised. "And I'll pull my trews over my boots – only I can't tramp through snow without good footwear and there's not time to get less good looking ones made. My last ones were so comfortable I wore them until they fell apart" he smiled a wry smile, absently stroking her fingers.

"The logicators worked Z'kan out before" she warned, relaxing visibly.

M'gol winked at her and flicked her face with a gentle finger.

"Most people don't have logicators" he pointed out. "besides, he's learned from that."

J'nara made herself look stern. It was an effort with M'gol smiling at her like that. Jays, what was WRONG with her!

"A false note out there might be your life, M'gol." She said seriously. "Here, the logicators were more or less just playing games. Outside the wyer you're not protected any more. It's harsh and unforgiving. As unforgiving as Thread."

He nodded.

"I know. I've talked to people like T'rin, and Z'kan has travelled widely avoiding…trouble. He's going to use his old craft of smith, and I shall be his half-wit brother and drudge. I'll keep my mouth shut and my ears open. And if I say anything that makes folk look askance, maybe if I'm thought an idiot I can get away with it. Satisfied, pretty?"

J'nara was mollified to the extent of starting to lean towards him until the compliment; then she jerked herself uptight and repossessed her hand.

"Well, for Luruth's sake, it's to be hoped that Z'kan brings your hide back intact" she said.

"Only for Luruth's?" his head on one side his laughing eyes challenged her. She turned her face away.

"Yes" she said firmly. "Though I'll wish you luck – and avoidance of too much punishment" she kept her face firmly turned away, pretending to ignor him as he brushed her flaxen head with his lips as he rose. He stood looking down at her for a moment; but he knew better than to push it. With a rueful half smile he went to join Z'kan.

Tobeela was staring at J'nara open mouthed.

"Is – is he theone your friend spoke of?" she asked. J'nara's fiery blush answered her. "He – he seems pleasant. It seems strange that a Bronze Rider should be so poorly dressed beneath his jacket. And should you really address him in so cavalier a fashion?"

J'nara grimaced.

"He's dressed like that for a purpose" she said. "And he asked me to speak frankly to him. If he doesn't like it he shouldn't have asked." She added truculently.

"What is he up to?" her father asked bluntly. "Sounds like he's off to do some spying."

J'nara flushed, embarrassed.

"It's not like that" she explained. "Only he's weyrbred: and he doesn't know a whole lot about life for most people. I challenged him to live outside the weyr for several days in disguise so no one would defer to him. I never really expected him to take up the challenge" she muttered unhappily.

Jenar raised an eyebrow.

"Then it's my turn to quote you back at yourself my girl. If you didn't mean it, you should not have said it" he seemed immensely pleased to have scored a point over his daughter, J'nara stared at her feet.

"Jenar, for shame!" chided Tobeela.

"It's true. If she wants to run her own life not have a husband care for her, she must face the consequences of her actions." Jenar declared pompously.

"You're worried about him, aren't you dear?" asked her mother. J'nara nodded.

"He's too flippant" she said. "Peole don't like it. He'll get into trouble."

"I'm sure he'll be careful to come back to you in one piece" comforted Tobeela.

Jenar snorted.

"People who tell stupid jokes need others to help them grow up" he said uncompromisingly. J'nara shuddered to think of M'gol working under a man like her father, who had no sense of humour at all!

"You may criticise" she said quietly "But would you be prepared to face the leading edge of Thread? Some riders tell jokes to help keep themselves able to handle that."

Jenar merely grunted.

21


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mirrith swooped down in the icy air to drop off Z'kan and M'gol within a few hours trudge from Tragen's Runnerhold.; and T'lana wished them luck.

"Remember" warned Z'kan as they set off "I am Zakan – and you are Marthengol. And hope that no-one twigs that only Benden parents saddle their brats with such a mouthful."

M'gol snorted.

"Don't blame me. I wasn't there to protest. Or rather, I wasn't in a position to do so. R'gar used to call me 'Golli' if that's a help." He volunteered.

"I might well use that, though it does sound a little boy's name. If you're simple, maybe we can get away with that. You'll certainly get some teasing about the full moniker, old boy, so you'll have to take it with a laugh and learn to live with it."

"I can play the clown – old boy. Which could again be in keeping with being not all there."

Z'kan nodded approvingly.

"Keep that in mind."

M'gol was not too sure whether he liked Z'kan or not. The Oldtimer could combine abrasiveness of manner with being taciturn; and sometimes added sarcastic for good measure. However, the man seemed on good terms with R'gar and T'lan and their friends; which was usually a good sign. M'gol gave a mental shrug and put Z'kan's manner down to protective overskin. They had to learn to work together in any case; and doubtless they would get to know each other better over the ensuing few days. It would not be well to start off expecting to dislike his colleague.

When the two dragonriders trudged tired and wet onto Tragen's property, they were met and taken straight to him. Apparently Tragen had prepared his people for their coming, as relief for his ageing smith. It said a lot for the type of man he was, as Z'kan pointed out to M'gol in an undertone, that there was no surprise shown; to show such a courtesy to his people must then here be taken as normal.

"Which it isn't everywhere" the Brown Rider added dryly. M'gol nodded; and reflected that he really DID have a lot to learn. It was not, he thought ruefully, the sort of clue he would have picked up on right away like that.

Tragen greeted the men kindly.

"Obviously" he told them privately "I will show you no deference, or treat you in any way differently from any of my people. But feel free to come to me if anything causes you difficulties, and I will do my best to sort it out."

Z'kan and M'gol murmured their thanks; and not least for the steaming mugs of klah that a serving man had brought them as soon as they set foot in the big stone hold building. The kitchen opened off the entrance hall, and it appeared that klah was always available. In the biting sub zero temperatures that such a hold suffered throughout the winter it was another thoughtful courtesy that belied the stern face of the hold's owner!

The Hold itself lay almost due north of the weyr and almost due east of High Reaches Hold, tucked into a blind valley. Theoretically it was called North Fork Runnerhold; but many people just referred to it as Tragen's. Much of the stabling was carved into the living rock on the south facing slope, with ample pasture on the valley floor. The human habitation consisted of a sprawling stone building that appeared to have grown out of a small cot hold. It had been extensively added to over successive generations; and Z'kan was able to point out architectural features in some of the older portions that had been innovative in his young days at the end of the previous Pass! One of the more recent additions – presumably coinciding with the resumption of Threadfall a decade and a half ago – was a covered walkway from the house to the stable caverns, and a covered veranda leading all the way along so the runners could be accessed even during fall. M'gol dug Z'kan in the ribs, glad to work something out for himself.

"It's open" he said. "The sides are open. They're not afraid of Thread like some holders are."

Z'kan nodded. It was one of the things he had not been looking forward to – being shut up if the temperature rose enough for Thread to fall. They might have to suffer that at the Gather – though Lord Bargen tried to pick the time between Falls anyway.

The head groom, Calum, who seemed to double as steward and who was showing them to the Smith's cot, set against the cliff face turned.

"Do it bother you, having it open?" he asked. M'gol shook his head emphatically; but let Z'kan answer when the Brown Rider kicked him in the ankle.

"No, sir, we're used to travelling. Often times we've sheltered just yards from falling Thread. We're just surprised."

Calum smiled.

"The runners hate Thread, but they hate not being able to see out even more. And Tragen is a believer in facing fears in any case" he added. "Sure, though, we don't make them as can't stand it run the passage."

"Opportunity for hazing" ventured Z'kan, laconically. Calum shook his head.

"I won't say hazing don't occur" he said. "It be good for some bumptious younkers ter be put in place. But Tragen won't have nothing to do with anything serious, and everyone knows that. So do you."

"No offence, I hope." Murmured Z'kan. "But my brother here, he's not all there, if you take my meaning, and sometimes he's a bit of a butt for…jokers."

"Ar, well, iff'n you can't deal with anything that happens – not that it should – sure, you must be coming to me and I'll sort that out" assured Calum. M'gol was fascinated by the man's accent, a peculiar synthesis of High Reaches country speech on what appeared to be a Ruathan base. M'gol put in,

"If there's Threadfall, sir, we know how to use flamethrowers and agenothree sprayers. We can walk pattern."

"Thank you, uh, Marthengol, we'll appreciate that." Said Calum "here is our smith, Vagor." He added as they reached the workshop-cot.

When 'Zakan' and 'Marthengol' were introduced to him, Vagor eyed them with a jaundiced look; and when Calum had left he sniffed and remarked,

"I hope you live up to the build-up Tragen gave me, Zakan. I may be glad not to be travelling through this muck" a sweep of the arm indicated the snowy landscape "but I'd hate my reputation to be damaged if you put in sloppy work. And what's more I don't recognise you from the Smithcraft Hall either" he added suspiciously.

Z'kan shrugged.

"I don't recognise you, either" said Z'kan truthfully.. "But then, I left as soon as I made journeyman, on a nice little assignment. I was lucky to get a good placement" _a bit like H'llon,_ he reflected, _and similar in a way, save that he Impressed as Weyrwoodcrafter and I was taken on search with the offer of weyrsmithcrafter if I did not Impress.._ he resumed, "I imagine that the difference in age and graduation to journeyman only has to differ by a few turns in order to miss each other – or at least not come into much contact."

Vagor scowled.

"Are you calling me old?" he bristled visibly.

"Not at all, master Vagor" Z'kan said smoothly. "But there are several Turns between us" _more than you think, old boy,_ he though to himself!

Vagor grunted, semi mollified.

"You'd better show me what you can do" he said truculently.

Z'kan stripped down and set to work. He and M'gol had previously arranged that, to simulate some knowledge on M'gol's part, Z'kan could issue instructions via their two dragons. Any delay in reacting could be set down to 'Marthengol's' supposed low intellect! M'gol set to work on the bellows, blowing harder or stopping as Luruth relayed orders – and they were rather peremptory orders, thought M'gol with some resentment.

Z'kan chose to make a chain and some horse shoes to demonstrate his ability. The smith examined his handiwork and grunted.

"Seems adequate" he seemed loth to admit it. "Let's see you shoe a runner."

"Got one that needs it?" enquired Z'kan. The smith nodded; and there was something about the grin he gave that Z'kan did not like. He resolved to be careful of the placid looking beast that the smith collected from one of the stables. As far as his skill went, Z'kan had no worries. This was a routine task. He nodded M'gol to the runner's head, confident that both of them had shed any dragon scented clothing that might make the creature nervous.

Vagor could not restrain a malicious chuckle as the previously placid animal became skittish the moment Z'kan lifted her foot. Z'kan had beeen half expecting trouble of this sort; and expertly he had the foot on the anvil, talking reassuringly to the runner. M'gol suffered more: he let out an involuntary

"Shards and shells!" as the mare bit him.

"She bite you?" asked Z'kan laconically. M'gol nodded, muttering imprecations, too busy keeping the beast calm to examine his wound. Z'kan raised an eyebrow. "Sh'e only playing games. Threaten to bite her back" he advised.

M'gol bared his teeth at the mare and growled. She nickered and showed the whites of her eyes, but quieted sullenly.

"Done" said Z'kan.

The moment the runner beast's foot was back on the floor she was quiet again; and M'gol sucked the toothmarks, shaking his head in disbelief.

Vagor gave a crack of laughter.

"Well I guess you'll do" he conceded.

M'gol grumbled about it to Z'kan later; and the Oldtimer gave him an old-fashioned look.

"I think, Marthengol" he was careful to emphasise the name "You suffer greater soreness from taking orders from a Brown Rider than from the bite."

M'gol flushed.

"Perhaps" he admitted, a little defensively. "You're rather abrupt, you know."

Z'kan looked him in the eye.

"Partly that was the time factor" he explained. "It certainly never occurred to me that you'd be the type to take offence. Besides, with the roundabout route the information had to take, it had to be kept simple. And you need to get used to abrupt, you know."

M'gol kicked at a pile of snow.

"I'm being childish, aren't I?" he admitted ruefully.

Z'kan gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

"Maybe a little, old boy" he agreed. "But stay that objective about yourself, about how you're feeling and reacting to situations and you could learn a lot about yourself and dragonriders – as well as the commons."

M'gol pulled a face.

"It's going to be harder than I thought" he confessed. "I had ideas about it being like taking orders from a weyrleader. It's not going to be like that at all, is it?"

"No." agreed Z'kan.

The Winter Gather at High Reaches had only limited racing, as commonly there was still deep snow. The main runner event there were to be the sled races, and the smiths were required to see that the metal sledrunners were in good condition as well as seeing to the special horseshoes of the runner beasts that would pull it. Tragen was entering four sled races; the lightweight single runner race; the two runner race; the heavy four runner race which required two jockey-drivers and the difficult and risky 'troika' or three runner race. Tragen was unable to explain the origin or even the original meaning of the name of the latter; it was lost in antiquity. He explained that with racing carriages, the three beast version was given the equally puzzling name, 'unicorn' and the animals ran two abreast and one in front. The troika had two shafts for the centre runner, the two others running on the outside beside it and controlled only by traces. But were difficult and highly skilled events. Tragen was of the opinion that the Troika was the most efficient form of transport for the conditions; but as few enough people had the skill to control the vehicle, it was not commonly used for day-today travelling. This he explained to the newcomers as the whole hold worked on checking the safety of the rigs and their leatherwork, Z'kan and M'gol also looking over metal links and snaffles for wear and damage. The harness was something that M'gol felt confident in helping with; it was not so different, after all, from seeing to flying straps. M'gol managed to please the Hold Leatherworker by helping him out with rapid and deft repairs, confidently and competently executed.

"Your brother's handy with leather" the man, Zardo, remarked to Z'kan. Z'kan nodded.

"We've both learned some harness work" he told the man. "Not everyone can afford a leatherworker and a smith. Marthengol here is handy with a palm."

Everyone was busy consulting Threadfall charts as the day approached; the journey would take two full days arduous travel to reach High Reaches Hold. North Fork Runnerhold was about the furthest Hold that would be likely to participate in races, though the odd hardy people might travel in from further just too visit the gather. Tragen intended leading those runners who would be racing to spare them, and had huge draught beasts attached to the several transport troikas that would carry clothes, equipment and personnel. It was a fine balance to take, pushing the beasts hard enough not to have to spent too long travelling, and making them go too fast. The jockeys would ride hardy small runners or llamas to lead the racing beasts; everyone else would ride for speed. There was a window in the Threadfall charts of two days as they would cross zones; it was vital to reach the Hold in that period. The next day Thread would fall, and though it might be expected to freeze black out of the sky, Tragen checked his personal maps for sheltered locations and loaded flamethrowers in case. For the day before the Gather was scheduled was a day of Thread; then the four days of the Gather were of course guaranteed safe. Bargen always consulted T'bor well in advance of impending Gathers to get the most advantageous time; and maintained plenty of blackrock at the Hold so that visiting dragonriders might get straight to work without having to return home if the horrifying occurance of Fall out of pattern should occur. Fortunately the genius calculations of Starmaster Wansor led to very reliable charts, especially once T'lan had translated the calculations into a tabulated form that did not make T'bor's head ache.

The upshot of this was that the runners would have not only the Threadfall day to rest, but three subsequent days as well; for the sled racing would take place on the final day to give all the visiting beasts the maximum time to recover from any journey they had made, rather than stack the odds on beasts from the host Hold. Tragen was not entering any beasts for the dressage show; held on the first day; he was concerned with the beauty of the muscular working animal rather than points of beauty decided, he felt, a trifle arbitrarily. The dressage was, he declared, a girlie event, designed to allow Holder wenches with more marks than sense to prance on their showy, overbred animals and flash their own legs at the audience.

M'gol was seriously taken aback by the logistics and the degree of preparation necessary for visiting the Gather. Of course, racing animals and earning winnings from them was one of Tragen's main sources of income, though he also bred runners for sale, and trained them to pull sleds and conveyances for such as required them. Conveyances other than sleds proved pretty pointless up in these mountainous regions, but Tragen had made enough of a name that visitors would come from further south to buy from him! He therefore had much more to take, as well as racing beasts to transport, than a casual visitor. M'gol reflected that perhaps he was spoiled by being able to just flit wherever he liked on Luruth, for the preparations even a visitor must make to go to the Gather appalled him. He had never since his adolescence been more than three heartbeats away from anywhere he cared to go; and the distance they were travelling was so short it would scarcely, on dragonback, even be worth transferring _**between**_ for!

North Fork also fielded a curling team for the Winter sports that attracted people to the Gather; Tragen did not permit his people to put together a Hurley team, for not only were numbers limited in this small holding, he felt it too dangerous a game in which to risk his jockeys. M'gol thought of T'lan's description of hurley – a team of men committing violence on each other while transporting a big pebble from one end of a pond to the other – and silently agreed with Tragen. However, he and Z'kan were invited to try out for the curling team.

Senior jockey and keen curler Morill explained,

"We field a team every year, and Kren comes in as least worst – but we're hoping you might do better."

Kren, one of the eight undergrooms, grinned cheerfully.

"Yes, I always lose it for the team, and then I get beaten up by them for it!" he declared, his cheerful manner belying the words. As Kren was built on similar lines to H'llon and easily overtopped the next tallest team member by more than a head, M'gol reflected that he could probably easily hold his own in any case.

Z'kan declined to try curling.

"Positively not my thing" he declared. "But young Marthengol has good PHYSICAL judgement, so he might be quite good."

The others laughed, and M'gol found himself having a polished granite stone thrust into his hand while the principals on how to use it were loudly and variously explained to him by at least a dozen people, most of whom had nothing to do with the team!

To his surprise, M'gol found it both easy and exhilarating! The heavy stone flew from his hand with satisfying eas exactly where he wanted it to go while he shouted encouragement to those brushing its path. The sweeping too was fun, once he had got used to the slippery surface! He was laughed at kindly whenhe fell over the first few times, and the others showed him how to slide along rather than trying to walk. M'gol's sense of balance was excellent and he soon had the hang of it. As he showed his worth, the others, team members and idlers watching them alike, cheered him on, and he was immensely gratified to be patted on the back by the diminutive team leader, Kirissa the undercook. M'gol, flushed with pleasure and exertion, turned to grin at Z'kan; who smiled back, pleased.

After bathing away the aches from involuntary contact with the ice, M'gol asked Z'kan why he had not wanted to try.

Z'kan shrugged.

"Dragonriders tend to be good at games that require good co-ordination" he said. "You seem to have talent as well as that. I have played curling before, and I was reasonable. It would seem suspicious if we were both good. Besides, I'm good at chucking the puck, but I have trouble with staying upright. I don't like getting a bruised arse."

M'gol had started to frown, irritated at what might be interpreted by a patronising tone in Z'kan; but at the Brown Rider's final confession he grinned suddenly.

"So you decided to scrifice me to the bruises?" he asked cheerfully.

"Every time, old boy. You're four hundred turns younger than I am" grinned Z'kan.

"And we've lived through exactly the same number, give or take a month or two" snorted M'gol. "You were one of the youngest ones to come forward."

Z'kan laughed

"I was hoping you'd forget that" he grinned.

_A/N I kinda had to have the 'Dallas' reference; never watched it but it was part of the cultural reference in my teenage years...More or less synonymous with the concept of 'Ranch'._

28


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

J'nara's parents would not stay overnight at the weyr, though they were glad of the good food and hospitality J'nara provided. Jenar was concerned lest cotholder Jarick might turn him and his family out if he was away too long; and knowing that Jarick was at least as stern and humourless as her father, J'nara could not in honesty dispute his decision. She sent her love to her two younger brothers and sister, and promised that they should visit the weyr soon.

"Now you've seen for yourselves, you'll not worry if they want to come on Search." She said. Jenar shuffled uncomfortably; but even he had to admith that they had received nothing but courtesy, even from people he would never have dared even look art! J'nara added, "I know why you didn't like dragonfolk: Tobari told me about Jeneela. Though I don't know why I don't remember her if it was in T'kul's time she killed herself."

Jenar looked at his wife.

"You tell her." He said.

Tobeela swallowed.

"Jeneela was your half sister." She said. J'nara blinked. Her mother continued, "Your father married my older sister first. She died birthing Jeneela: and I went to care for her. In time, we wed. she was six when Tobari was born. Your sister Caralara is named for my sister, Careela. You had a twin brother who was named Carar for the same reason; but he only lived a week. You were still just a little little girl when Jeneela ….died. it was not under T'kul. It was when there was only one weyr. She was raped by a Benden rider."

J'nara was shocked and horrified, and rocked by the family revelations she had no idea about. Her expression ran the gamut of emotion she was feeling, but the one that won was compassion. Impulsively she embraced each of her parents.

"That's terrible!" she exploded. "For as well as losing a daughter, you lost through Jeneela the one link to a person you both loved! I shall ask T'bor to speak to F'lar about it!"

"My dear, there's no need…" her mother began – but Jenar laid a gentle restraining hand on his wife's wrist.

"Are you serious that you could do so – and not be laughed at? Even though you are now a rider?" he asked incredulously. J'nara nodded.

"And if I were NOT a rider, T'bor would still take it seriously. Whether the culprit can be found, or indeed is even still alive, I cannot know. But I am certain that F'lar will do his best to find out!" she averred.

Jenar shook his head in amazement as years of preconception started to crumble!

J'nara's legs trembled more than she would have cared to admit when she approached T'bor.

"Sir, could I consult you over a matter?" she asked, politely.

T'bor smiled reassuringly at the nervoud looking young woman.

"Certainly, Green Rider" he said. "My office in ten minutes? Perhaps you'll be kind enough to pick up a fresh jug of klah for us both on the way over."

"Certainly, Weyrleader. Thank you." J'nara said, bobbing her head respectfully.

T'bor had heard of J'nara though he used the honorific because he was not sure he could remember her name without checking with Pilgra! Pilgra had commented that this particular Impressee was likely to prove one of the most steady of their female contingent; and as the girls Impressed to date had favourably surprised T'bor, he was inclined to take that an excellent recommendation. The girls who had Impressed often had the sort of background that gave them a sense of responsibility, like M'rian and A'ira who had seen tragedy in their young lives. The rest generally settled down, even if they had started of..difficult. T'bor was thinking of B'lova here, who had become almost unrecognisable from the spoiled brat that had arrived at the Weyr. He finished his inspection tour, an informal walkabout he set himself each morning so that people like J'nara COULD approach him with problems; and checked with Pilgra what the flaxen haired Green rider was called!

"J'nara" he said as he entered the outer office weyr. "Ah, Klah. What can I do for you?"

J'nara swallowed hard, and began to outline her family history. Suddenly she was wondering whether T'bor would take the interest she had so firmly asseverated that he would.

She need not have worried. T'bor listened seriously and with growing anger; and asking her one or two sharp but pertinent questions, obtained all the information she had.

"Pilgra says you are good for M'gol" he commented. J'nara blushed! He continued, "I must say I did wonder when you sent him offon this – well, I thought it daft venture. But I was wrong to wonder" he smiled at J'nara who was making inarticulate protests about meaning to send M'gol anywhere.. "My dear girl, I'm well aware that M'gol would only go if he felt he ought to. And I'm agreeing. I had not realised how wide the gulf could be between Dragonfolk and Commons. It is the fault of the gulf that arose during the Long Interval, and the actions of the Oldtimers has just compounded it. I fear that T'lan might just be right – as usual – about needing more contact" he smiled ruefully. "It's just as well I'd be bored by a quiet life. I'll do what I can, J'nara – but after all this time I don't hold out a lot of hope of many, if any, answers."

J'nara stumbled through thanks that he should trouble himself; and he held her eyes seriously.

"J'nara, it's what I'm here for. Never hold back from telling me your concerns. Or Pilgra. Or R'gar; or T'lan. We're official fix-it people" and he smiled at her.

The upshot of this was that T'bor took the time to visit Benden Weyr himself; as things were quiet at the time due to the cold. The odd fall over Tillek could adequately be led by T'kil, and would in any case be good training for the young man. As T'bor had feared, there was no clue as to the culprit; but F'lar did take a dim view of the weyrs being brought into disrepute. F'lar suggested blood money as the best that he could do; and T'bor took it personally to J'nara's parents. He knew as well as anyone that there could be no real compensation for the loss of a loved one; and said so. He suggested to overcome Jenar's proud disclaimers that the money could be used towards extras to creditably establish their surviving children. In this case it was the usually quiet Tobeela who had the last word; and she almost bullied Jenar to accept both the marks and the formally worded apology.

Meanwhile J'nara was feeling disconsolate. She had no reason to do so; she had been reconciled with her parents, and T'bor had promised to look into her family's tragedy. But she found herself wandering around aimlessly.

"_you are missing M'gol" _said Rillith.

"_**Why should I miss that silly idiot?"**_ replied J'nara.

"_your words do not say what your feelings do"_ the little green dragon accused. J'nara wrapped her arms around Rillith's neck and buried her face against her soft skin.

"But I'm not even sure if I like him" she sighed out loud. Rillith butted her head lovingly against her rider.

"_But you take pleasure in his presence. When he is here he often makes you laugh"_ reminded Rillith. J'nara sighed again. It was too true. M'gol only annoyed her because she could see that there was more tohim than the boyishly charming front he put on – and, if she was honest with herself, because she wanted to know better what was underneath. She had seen some of the real M'gol because he never put on an act in front of R'gar and T'lsn; and she had observed him first when she had been T'lan's drudge. Even after she had Impressed, she made an effort to take flowers to T'lan and R'gar's joint weyr because she knew it brought them pleasure; and at times M'gol had been there talking to them.

"_I like Luruth!"_ reassured Rillith, and J'nara hugged her.

"That's good. He is kind to take an interest in you" she said.

"_uruth likes me too"_ the little dragon informed her smugly. _"He worries about M'gol. But I cheer him up"_ she sounded so smugly pompous that J'nara had to laugh!

R'gar noticed that J'nara was brooding, and asked T'lan about it.

"That girl J'nara – is she missing my scrapegrace milk brother? I thought she didn't like him!"

T'lan laughed.

"Dear one, don't you remember how we quarrelled until we got ourselves sorted out, and realised that what we really wanted was each other?"

R'gar looked ashamed.

"You mean how I grouched at you until I found out you were a girl" he amended. T'lan grinned.

"Whatever" she shrugged. "Ancient history. J'nara wants the real M'gol. She gets frustrated by that silly act he wears like a second skin. It irritates me too" she added thoughtfully.

R'gar groaned.

"She'll get hurt" he muttered. "She's a nice Holdbred girl and she'll not be able to cope with M'gol's cavalier attitude towards loving."

T'lana laughed.

"Dear one, don't you think he might have got it as bad himself/ he's taken himself off on this self imposed quest all at her suggestion. And does he talk about her the way he usually shows off his current conquest? He does not. I find that VERY suggestive!"

R'gar grunted.

"It could so easily all end in tears" he said. "Then there'll be the two of them to pick up the pieces of."

T'lana shrugged.

"It's what love is about." she admonished gently. "Taking a chance. Putting your trust in someone. It's what defines commitment."

"M'gol always says that he likes to avoid commitment." R'gar was sceptical. His weyrmate kissed him tenderly.

"Which is why he's taking it hard – and playing even more the immature ass at her. He's trying to convince himself that she's just another potential conquest – and she's trying to convince herself that she's not in the least bit interested in a fool like M'gol. People are funny like that. They have a great capacity for self deliusion."

"People are crazy." grunted R'gar.

oOoOo

M'gol had no idea that J'nara was missing having him around; but he was aware of noticing her absence. More that he would have thought! M'gol thought of J'nara as overly serious and perhaps even a little prudish; but he found that what he was remembering was the times her face suddenly lightened as a bubble of mirth welled up in her – and it was a bubble, he thought, suppressed until it had to escape! He thought about the way her nose wrinkled with amusement and her green eyes laughed before her face did. And he thought too of the sudden quiet but often pithily accurate summation she could make of someone, often showing an earthy side that a prudish holder girl should not have!

M'gol sighed. If she had only succumbed to his charms like most girls, they could have had their fun and parted friends. It was the way things were. But she had to be different; and she had managed to get right under his skin! M'gol, older than J'nara, and not half as childish as many people thought him, had come to a realisation. His days of wandering were probably over. Nothing would satisfy him but a pair of grave, laughing green eyes set in the attractive but not conventionally beautiful face of one young green rider. It was very exasperating. And he could do without the vision of J'nara's face interrupting him every step of the long and irksome journey overland. He welcomed the difficult stretches in a way, because it brought work too hard to allow thought. Although they mostly rode in the big transport troikas, there were times that the snow was too soft to bear the runners; and then the strongest and biggest men had to go ahead to break trail. It was not like anything M'gol had ever done before, and soon he ached in muscles he hardly knew he had before! To give Tragen his due, he broke trail with the rest, although he was into his middle years. Like T'bor, M'gol thought, the man is obeyed because he is respected, not out of fear. And he is respected because he is no slacker himself. Asking no more of his people than he was prepared to give, the taciturn Runnerholder probably got more from his people than those who used threats. Like T'bor. Most personnel at High Reaches Weyr would go to the Red Star for their Weyrleader, and for Pilgra too. The same went for F'lar. And it all made sense. So why, wondered M'gol, did so many Holders – if accounts were accurate – not act in the same way? Surely it must be an easy matter to prove to your underlings that you would work as hard as they? He knew the answer, of course, though it seemed to hold little logic to him. There were too many who felt that rank and privilege exempted them from having to work; those who wanted all the rights and none of the responsibilities. Another three miles of battling against deep drifts led to another thought; that this attitude did not stop with those in positions of authority. He had heard many tales of commons who wanted the protection of dragonkind during Thread without the task of tithing to upkeep them.

M'gol squinted up ahead through his snow protectors. Tragen had all his people wear these wooden eye coverings with just a narrow vision slit to help combat snow blindness. Many of the women wore dark coloured snow veils instead, to help them breathe in the dry cold mountain air. Kirissa frequently had to bang the accumulation of ice from the outside of hers where her very breath had frozen. M'gol loosened the scarf he wore almost to his own moth to shake of crystals of his own breathing. Yet it was beautiful out here, in a stark kind of way. It did not have the serene, pristine loveliness it took on when dragonback, apparently soft and benign below Luruth's wings; down here it was a wild, even threatening beauty. Passes snowed up told a story of bitter isolation for any unfortunate to Hold within them; and snow slumps ugly with grime from the rocks they carried with them threatened instant destruction to anything – or anyone – unfortunate enough to be in their path. And always above stood the grim black teeth that marked the edges of the valleys they traversed.

M'gol squinted again, and peered under his hand to see if the flash of colour that had caught his eye was just imagination. It lay near the base of one of the slumps.

"Tragen – look!" he pointed, once he had ascertained that his eyes did not deceive him. The Holder shaded his eyes and directed his gaze in the direction M'gol had pointed.

"Well spotted, lad." He grunted. M'gol did not take offence at being called lad from a man of Tragen's years and experience. Tragen raised his voice.

"Accident – left. Get shovels. You jockeys, walk the beasts gently every few minutes. You know what to do. Kirissa, get a fire going and haul out the herbs. Klah too. Be careful, everyone – let's not bring any more of this fardling mountain down to say hello!" His tone was peremptory, but they all laughed a little at his final sally and set to work with a will.

M'gol and Z'kan worked as hard as anyone, digging away by that pathetic flag that closer inspection turned out to be a sled cover. The ends of two steel shod sled runners could just be seen sticking up out of the snow and rubble.

"There might be a protected pocket under the sled!" suggested M'gol.

"Ha! You may be slow at some things Marth my lad, but you'm a good head for practicalities!" approved head groom Calum. The nickname had been bestowed by most of M'gol's new colleagues, Marthengol being deemed to be a name that didn't shout well, and nor did the child-name Golli. M'gol had made some half hearted protest, saying that it made him sound like a dragon; which had led to the jockeys solemnly presenting him with a bucket of firestone at supper time! Thus, M'gol suffered the shortening with good grace, aware that the rider honorific shortening was also for practical, shoutable purposes!

Careful digging soon broke into a snow cave under the tilted sled, as M'gol had suspected; but the air was stale and the young man and woman within were a poor colour.

"Be they blue from cold or bad air?" wondered Calum as he peered in. "That'll be the bejays to move 'em, for his leg's broke fer sure."

Generally, M'gol enjoyed Calum's strange speech patterns, but the slow country diction now almost got on his nerves. He caught Z'kan's eye and the man gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

"We need to send a message." Mused Z'kan; and M'gol realised the words were meant for him. Big bronze Luruth could manage to pass on a more complex message than Brown Adeth, especially to his clutch mate Laranth.

Laranth bugled for R'gar as Luruth and Adeth broadcast their message of an accident. J'nara came flying out of her weyr, her long flaxen hair loose and flying; and almost collided with T'lan.

"Weyrwoman T'lana – I'm sorry! – please, Rillith says Luruth says there's been an accident – M'gol…" her big green eyes were full of fear. T'lan tweaked one of her pale ringlets cheerfully.

"Shards, girl, he's fine! He and Z'kan sent the message that they've found someone hurt. Rillith is of course just a baby still – she's not too good at getting the full gist." T'lana smiled kindly. "If you can get your hair together and your warms on in minutes two, you can ride with me and help out if you like."

J'nara nodded eagerly and hurried off to pull on furs, bundling her mass of tresses into a a quick plait as she ran. She wanted to help of course – but she also wanted a covert look at how M'gol was doing! He and Z'kan were spending longer on the job than ever she had anticipated, through T'lan's arrangement for them to visit the Gather under Tragen's protection. She was somewhat concerned, and about more than M'gol's safety. Luruth and Adeth did not seem unduly put out by their riders' absence; Luruth accepted attention from R'gar's family; and Zaira looked after her father's dragon with the aid of some of the young logicators. But the arrival of D're's family had put a bit of strain on the resources of the lower caverns; and although Thread was cracking black in the cold, a warm snap could see the Weyr missing a steady wingleader like M'gol.

"You worry too much." J'nara told herself sternly. M'gol would not have taken the time out had his presence been vital. Thoughtless he might be in some ways; but he was scrupulous in all his duties.

Z'kan sighed with relief as a familiar greenish gold dragon glided over, then backwinged and spiralled down as though the rider were surprised enough to come and investigate. Two bronzes followed. M'gol recognised Laranth before he even saw the dragon's ruined right eye. Melth was the other bronze; and M'gol hid a smile as he realised that the young dragon, despite being descended from an Oldtimer Queen, was as big as his sire! Laranth prided himself on being a span longer in the tail than Orth and ignored the fact that Luruth was wider across the shoulders! M'gol's mouth twitched as it occurred to him that R'gar was probably checking up on him; and judging by the golden curls of H'llon's passenger, Zaira was checking on her father too!

And Mirrith had a passenger too. It seemed that J'nara was not as indifferent to his exploits as she had been trying to make out. M'gol felt a big grin spread across his face; and remembered to turn it to good account in his role as a half wit.

"Big Pretty dragons!" he declared, dredging up memories of Camo at the Harper Hall.

36


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

T'lana slid down Mirrith's foreleg and somehow made the manoeuvre seem almost graceful. She strode over to Tragen as J'nara followed more carefully.

"Tragen." T'lana's voice was warm. "You have a problem?" she asked him. He nodded; then shook his head.

"There's a problem, but they're not my people and I don't recognise either one…Calum here thinks the boy has a broken leg and they're both a bad colour."

T'lana disappeared entirely into the ice cave despite an oath from R'gar; her tiny body could fit where few other adults could go.

Orders issued hollowly from the cave.

"I need a spar to hold his leg straight…furs to warm them.. can someone rig up a stretcher, better two….if you have stone warming bottles and warming pans with you Tragen, we need every scrap of warmth we can get to raise them to a lifelike temperature."

M'gol noticed that even Tragen did T'lan's bidding without question; but he overheard muttered comments that showed that the compliance of some was a little sullen.

"We don't need no weyrfolk interference" mutteredone of the grooms. "Swanning in here and taking over… do this, Tragen, do that, Tragen, kiss my arse, Tragen…"

Kirissa rapped the man over the knuckles with her wooden spoon as she heated water.

"To be sure we do need them, Aggar" she admonished. "What would we do with half dead youngsters? Besides, these aren't any old weyrfolk. That's weyrwoman T'lana as helped Tragen out when them crooks were illtreating Darkspeed. She'm his friend and friends can talk direct-like to each other. And that scarred one, they do say as how he's her man, same as a proper marriage for regular folk."

Aggar muttered a bit; but seemed to keep any adverse opinions he might hold to himself. M'gol reflected dryly that T'lan seemed to attract fiercely partisan support wherever she went! Still, the way people spoke of dragonfolk, whether supporters or detractors, was educational in itself!

Tragen's people continued digging as the weyrfolk worked on the young couple; and the two runner beasts that had been harnessed to the sled were found dead. One had had its neck broken, twisted up in the traces: the other apparently suffocated. No other people seemed to be present.

It was J'nara who, standing a little apart in her diffident way, heard the thin, fitful crying. She looked round and caught M'gol's eye. It was not difficult; he kept glancing across in her direction. She called tohim,

"I hear a baby! Come and help me!"

M'gol remembered to drop his eyes as he acknowledged,

"Yes, weyrwoman."

J'nara scrambled across the rocky icy turmoil. She relied on M'gol to help her get over the difficult terrain as she traced the sound to its source, his tall strong frame finding it easier than she did. As they scrambled over the tumbled chaotic ground hand in hand, j'nara pointed breathlessly.

The small child lay bundled in furs and wrapped in a snow veil, still in its cradle, which had been thrown clear intact. The degree of insulation was apparently sufficient that the babe had taken little hurt from the cold!

"Stay here – I'll get the cradle" panted M'gol. "I'll carry it to safety then come back for you."

J'nara nodded wordlessly. She managed as he returned with his burden,

"Don't take the baby out of the cradle. It'll stay warmer."

He nodded in passing; and carried on back to the others; then returned to help her as promised. J'nara had started to make her cautious way back on her own, but gave him a grateful smile as he returned to offer her his arm. With help, she was soon on easier ground, and M'gol received a couple of subdued but appreciative whistles and a sly dig or two in the ribs when he returned to his fellows.

"That's a pretty catch to make out hunting in the mountains!" said Morill slyly. M'gol grinned sheepishly; and found to his surprise and horror that he was blushing like a youth! There were muffled hoots and ribald comments, and he busied himself quickly with helping Kirissa who brooked no nonsense!

Meanwhile, T'lana and the otherswere working on the young couple, while J'nara shushed and rocked the baby. T'lana privately gave very little for the chances of their patients; it was her opinion that life was very nearly extinct in the girl and that the boy had a broken back in addition to his broken leg. He had been dragged out on the makeshift stretcher that Tragen's men had improvised but it was no guarantee he would not be paralysed. It might be kinder to let him die. Had he been a dragonrider, T'lana would have had had little hesitation in letting him go; for injuries such as he had would surely disrupt all functions below the waist, making flying impossible. Even crippled Sh'rilla had feeling and some movement in her disease damaged legs; and could function very adequately. The complete severance of the spine, as T'lana was sure had occurred here, just below the shoulder blades, would cause a disability intolerable to a dragonrider.; but as a stranger she did her best to maintain life in the young man.

"Have you hot milk for the child, J'nara? Ah, well done." Said T'lana as she saw that the young woman had already soaked a rag in warmed milk for the baby to suck. "Bring the little one over to its mother. The sound and smell of her child might give her the will to live."

J'nara did as she was bid. M'gol had drifted over, and stood by, feeling helpless.

"Marthengol – it is Zakan the smith's brother Marthengol, isn't it?" T'lana fixed a steely eye on M'gol as she kept the pretence going. M'gol nodded. "Good, I thought I recognised you. Come here – you've good big hands. Rub the girl's hands and try to restore the blood in them. H'llon, you do the same for her feet."

"What about the lad?" asked H'llon, obediently chafing the girl's frozen feet beneath the furs. T'lan pulled a face.

"He's better dressed anyway." She said. "extremities less affected. But he also has a broken back. I'd like Calla to check it out, but Mirrith says she's a little tied up with young T'han. The young clunch has brokenhis arm this time." T'han, Brown Firrianth's rider, was famed for hhis ability to damage himself, not by recklessness but by doing normal things and getting tangled up in himself! T'lan added, "R'ben is bringing Calla as soon as possible."

Brown Breeth arrived from_ **between**_ as she spoke, and soon Calla was confirming T'lan's diagnosis. Calla pulled a face.

"I'm loath to let him die if we can save him. If he's paralysed and can't live with it, it's his right to take an overdose of fellis. It's harder to set right the other way about." She said dryly. T'lana nodded.

"You are wise, Calla." She said. "I have been getting him as warm as I can, and his extremities are less chilled than his lady. His boots are better and he's wearing good driving gloves."

Calla nodded. She had given a cursory glance at the young woman before studying the more badly damaged patient.

"Silly chit should have taken her gather clothes with her, not worn them. The vanity of the young! And it could have killed her" she sighed.

T'lana nodded absently, and glanced at the sky. Leaving Calla in charge she strolled over to Tragen.

"Did you want to be off? You can still make Highspire Hold by nightfall. We can manage adequately here, thanks to the hot water and Klah – the first for them, the second for the rest of us!" she smiled. "If you didn't mind, I can return your stone bottles and warming pans later."

Tragen nodded.

"Yes, I'd like to get on our way. The animals have to be walked to keep them from getting too cold; and if they walk too much here, they won't have the strength to make it to Highspire."

T'lana pulled a sympathetic face.

"Yes, get those poor creatures under way. I'll drop in on Lord Bargen and let him know that you stopped."

Tragen bridled.

"Of course I stopped! Anyone would! There's no need for Lord Bargen to be troubled."

T'lana touched his arm.

"Oh, but Tragen – that's the point. Not everybody WOULD have stopped – especially to the possible detriment of their animals. And if acts of kindness ARE rewarded, the otherwise selfish may be persuaded to undertake such acts in the hope of recognition. It's called enlightened self interest. Call me cynical if you wish!" she shrugged. "But that's the way I see it."

He looked thoughtful.

"Aye, maybe at that you're right. Well at least the upper staff at High Reaches are realists. And now, weyrwoman, I shall love you and leave you, with a wish for the best of luck with your charges! I thank you for your kind intervention – and be sure that I shall ALSO tell Lord Bargen that weyrfolk can also turn aside for acts of kindness!" his stern grey eyes had the hint of a twinkle in them as he gently teased the little weyrwoman!

J'nara also went with T'lana to return the warming equipment after Tragen's band had trudged their weary way into Highspire Hold. It was situated within an ice cut arête, one end towering up into a narrow spire that gave the hold its name. The main prosperity of the hold came from its situation, at the confluence of several valleys. Traders regularly passed through and there were always several stalls to be found in the big common hall. The fees the traders payed to set up their stalls in the safety of the hold brought in a degree of prosperity to the hold that might otherwise barely scrape by on the proceeds from its llama herds and woollen cloth. There were few good pastures in the immediate neighbourhood this high in the mountains and the Hold's herd was small. Most of the wool it sold came from outlying cotholders who were loosely Beholden to it, and who used this trading centre to sell their wool to the traders who came looking for it to sell on elsewhere. Tragen himself was glad to bargain directly with several local herders for woven cloth and avoid the mark-up a travelling trader would put on if they brought the goods to him.

Tragen was pleased to see T'lana and her friend again, and thanked her for her rapid return of his equipment. He asked the question M'gol was longing to voice, but was afraid to hear the answer. Death was not a stranger to the dragonman; but few died of Threadscore now that good charts were available; and death for the aged was often a blessed release. And with the lengthy lifespan enjoyed by most weyrfolk, death from old age was not a common occurrence. It just seemed to him so unjust that a young and healthy couple should fall prey to a natural disaster, not even Thread!

Tragen said bluntly,

"Did they make it?"

T'lan shook her head.

"The babe is fine" she reassured. "The young man – well, he has gone into shock. Between the cold and his injuries, Calla is not sanguine about his chances. The girl…" she shut her eyes. "The girl died just after you left. We never even got her warm enough to risk the trip _**between**_."

Tragen shook his head.

"A sad business." He said. "Have you found out who they are?"

T'lana shook her auburn mop.

"Not yet. I've had our Weyrartist take likenesses and I've set some weyrlings to go ask about. It's good practise for them in any case. And I'll take pictures to High Reaches to show around when I visit Lord Bargen shortly." She concluded.

"Excuse me, weyrwoman" Jockey Morill asked respectfully. T'lana cocked her head expectantly on one side and smiled encouragingly. The man went on, "The – the young man. I've been thinking – I think I recognised him. I've been trying to think from where, and I've finally worked it out. He's sometimes at the big races. I think mostly losing heavily."

T'lana gave him a quick smile.

"Thank you – that could be a great help."

"Anybody else anything to say about him?" asked Tragen. Most heads were shaken; though one jockey muttered something about recognising him now Morill had mentioned it.

"What will happen about the baby?" blurted M'gol, who then winced as several of his current colleagues kicked him in the ankle to warn him about his temerity!

T'lan looked at him.

"It will depend, Marthengol. If there is kin, they will want, no doubt, to look after him themselves. For the moment he is being cared for in the weyr – weyrwoman J'nara is seeing to his needs. He is about a Turn and a half, so it's not like having to find a wet nurse for a tiny baby."

J'nara grimaced and caught M'gol's eye with a tragic-comic look.

"The trouble is that he's mobile – and I hardly dare turn around in case he's in the lake or up the Seven Spindles!" she said.

M'gol smiled at her, and nodded.

"Thank you, weyrwomen" he said politely. At least there was one survivor – and if they had not turned aside, the cold winter night would have finished the child even if scavengers had not found him!

Although a brief cloud of despondency fell over Tragen's people, that there efforts had not yielded happier results, happy chatter about the Gather soon dispelled it. M'gol found it difficult to credit that a tragedy they had been closely involved with could be dismissed so lightly; but Tragen, seeing his face, led him aside.

"I'm a blunt man, Bronze Rider, and I hope you'll not take offense: but it does no good to brood on things you cannot help" he said.

"I feel so helpless" confessed M'gol.

"Then join most of us in that!" said the Runnerholder uncompromisingly. "Maybe you and your dragon can fix a lot of things; but most of the time, people just have to live with consequences. And nature has its own consequences" he shrugged.

"How can everyone start laughing again so quickly?" asked M'gol

"What good is there in mourning folk we did not know?" asked Tragen. "Life's too short and often enough full of mourning your own to borrow trouble and worry about outsiders. Besides" he added shrewdly "At least half of it is relief that it wasn't us."

M'gol felt cold all over.

"I suppose it could have been, couldn't it?" he asked

Tragen smiled thinly.

"Maybe. But when you know these mountains as I know these mountains, you recognise the signs. If I got caught in an avalanche at any time of year I would truly deserve it for foolishness."

"Are you saying that the young man was a fool?" asked M'gol. "And that his lady and child died for it?"

Tragen pursed his lips.

"Let's say he certainly lacked the experience to attempt a journey in those conditions, travelling so close to a south facing slope where snow could be expected to thaw and slip. They had insufficient furs too – and that girl was inadequately clad. Presumable she had been drilled enough by her mother or someone to keep the baby from cold – but thought she could cope. Lad, I've seen enough cases of frostbite. If she'd lived she'd have lost both feet and maybe her hands too. I'm not saying a freak accident CAN'T happen to anyone – same as in YOUR environment, sometimes even dragonmen die from Thread. If you live or go into a dangerous environment, you take appropriate precautions."

M'gol pulled a face.

"I'm sorry" he said.

Tragen put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"It's nice to know that dragonmen feel compassion for us commons" said the older man, his face softening. "But you must learn not to let it show too much."

M'gol nodded gratefully; and returned to the others.

J'nara too wept for the young couple when the young man finally lost his fight for life. Her fertile imagination worked overtime weaving stories of their love and romance, and their desire to visit a Gather together with their baby, perhaps to celebrate an anniversary of their marriage.

B'lova was more prosaic, in something of a role reversal when it came to spinning fantasies!

"They might have merely been hoping that a Gather would jolly along a failing marriage rendered insupportable by a squally brat." She suggested.

J'nara scowled at her.

"How can you, B'lova? Have you no romance inyour soul?" she demanded of her friend. B'lova laughed.

"Plenty – too much at times! But I'm afraid I've also got a goodly streak of cynicism" she admitted. "I suppose that I've inherited one of mother's better points – a strong streak of hard headed shrewdness" she shrugged. "I daresay you're closer to the truth, but as there's little to logicate on save their clothes."

J'nara frowned. The logicators had been given free access to the dead pair in case by chance someone should think of a clue to follow up.

"Their clothes don't add up, do they?" she said.

"What have you noticed?" asked B'lova, interested.

"Wel…" J'nova flushed, flustered at being put on the spot, "It occurred to me that although he was dressed for the cold, as though he was expecting to travel, she only put cold weather outer garments on. But even so, her clothes are of better quality than his. It doesn't make sense that a man and his wife should wear clothes of differing quality" she frowned. "It just doesn't add up!"

As it turned out, T'lan had had a luckt break through the efforts of the weyrlings, and neither girls' initial guess was right. The weyrling involved baulked at telling the bad news and summoned T'lan to the cot hold where the pictures had been recognised. T'lan returned later to tell the story.

It turned out that the young woman's name was Teesa; and the young man was her cousin Tessan. Teesa had married a moderately well off Cotholder named Argan, whose holdings were a little larger than T'lan's foster father Sarel's. argan was a good looking man in a rugged sort of way; he was strong and, of course, a man of some substance. Teesa's family approved of the match, though they were distantly related to the Blood because they were not themselves prosperous. Argan adored his lovely and cultured wife, and provided her with all the luxuries she desired and undulged her. However, he did not indulge her to the extent that he left her idle; he expected her to clean and cook and make cheese and generally pull her weight as a cotholder's wife. He had two hired men, and the work was not arduous by the standards of most, but she resented doing any manual work! Their only point of agreement was their young son, on whom both doted. Teegan was the apple of his mother's eye, and when her feckless but charming cousin suggested that they become lovers and run away together she refused to leave him behind. Tessan was as selfish as he was charming, and relied on his cousin to remove Argan's savings to give him a good gambling base; and it also led him not to check or even notice, how adequately his lover was dressed! T'lan had dispatched two mountain bred weyrlings to hunt for Argan's strongbox and his wife's jewel box to prevent some opportunist stealing them; but the boys were under orders not to take risks over mere valuables. T'lan shook her head as she came to the end of her narrative.

"Poor man" she sighed, referring to Argan. "He obviously loved his silly wife to distraction. But what's tearing him apart is that he doesn't know how he's to bring up his son. J'nara, I hope you won't think I take you for granted" she turned worried brown eyes on the girl, who quickly shook her head – "But I said that one of our young weyrwomen was currently looking after him and that we would be happy to continue to foster until he found a foster mother or until the lad was old enough to take care of his major physical needs" she added, "Now if you wish it I can find someone else."

J'nara embraced T'lana.

"I'm not saying I'd not like a bit of helpsometimes – but I'm happy to see to young Teegan's needs" she said softly. T'lana smiled.

"I suggested that extended visits to see his father regularly would help prepare him for returning" she said. "You must be prepared to let him go – it would be too cruel to deprive Argan of his son as well as him having lost his wife."

J'nara nodded.

"I can do that" she said. "It will be hard I expect – but I'm sure I could visit sometimes afterhe has returned to help him to ease into his new life too. Like a spare auntie."

"You're a good person, J'nara" approved T'lan.

"Exploited, but good" said B'lova, dryly.

"Of course she's exploited" T'lan agreed. "It's what weyrwomen are for. We take less brunt of Thread at the lower level sweep – so we have time for these little administrative nightmares. You can help her if you like."

B'lova sighed.

"I probably shall" she said. "I detest small children, but I guess I can do my bit."

"Good girl" T'lana smiled approval; and B'lova was happy to bask in it. She had not really meant to criticise T'lan about exploiting J'nara; for she knew that the diminutive queen rider worked harder than anyone except perhaps Pilgra – but she felt a need to spring to the defence of her friend!

44


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

At Highspire Hold, M'gol felt unable to settle, and spent some time prowling around its lower caverns. He was looking for the quiet bustle that he associated with lower caverns, comforting busy women and pleasant smells. The bustle was thee, but the comforting atmosphere he would have expected to find at High Reaches Weyr, or Benden, was conspicuous by its absence. Sullen cooks and drudges went unwillingly about their work, obvious cliques obstructing other factions in whatever petty ways they could. Stupid and childish pranks seemed to be the order of the day, heedless of the safety of others. M'gol almost got caught by a trip rope at the to of stairs; and seeing a face lurking round a door,, hurled his way in as soon as he had ripped out the offending rope. He grabbed the pasty faced perpetrator by the neck of his tunic.

"And what by the Red Star do you think you're doing trying to kill me?" he raged. "Shards, I don't even know you! How can you have that bad a grudge against me?"

The young man – scarce more than a boy – gave a nervous, embarrassed giggle. M'gol found him a disgusting object, looking up with an ingratiating expression.

"I thought you were one of Lady Dalia's men" he excused himself.

"Well I'm not. I'm with Tragen." Growled M'gol. And if I were, it'd still not give you excuse to attempt murder."

The youth paled

"I weren't going to murder no one!" he wined. M'gol shook him; it gave him great satisfaction.

"What do you think would happen then if someone fell over your rope? That they'd turn into a firelizard and fly downstairs? If the recipient of your stupidity were lucky, they might just break several bones. But the length of those steps, it's my belief you'd kill 'em." He dropped the lad. "Faugh! At your age you ought to know better. I'd expect a kid of four or five turns to have grown out of that sort of thing."

There was the sound of footsteps passing, with glassware clinking; and the youth moaned,

"Now he's gone and you've spoiled the trap and all her fancy glassware's going to get to her intact. You're a spoilsport!"

"Didn't you understand what I was saying?" M'gol was outraged. "What kind of a pathetic creature are you that you waste your time playing ridiculous and childish pranks?"

"There's no call to bad mouth me." The youngster made a moue and flounced off. M'gol heaved a deep sigh of exasperation, and determined to keep a close eye out for further traps and tricks!

M'gol continued to prowl; and although the obstructive behaviour was heedlass to the point of being reckless, there were no signs of bullying as such. This was not, however, a happy place at all! M'gol found at last a relatively cheerful looking drudge girl with a good figure and a superficial resemblance to J'nara; and offered to help her with heavy chores in exchange for gossip and information. The girl Clemelly was willing to oblige; and intimated that she was willing to oblige in other ways too. Suddenly M'gol felt that she was less attractive than he had at first thought; and wondered vaguely why. He flirted with her gently anyway; and obtained the information that the holder here, Trabin, in addition to Lady Dara his wife had a mistress known as Lady Dalia. The supporters of the two ladies accounted for two of the factions and almost the whole of the Hold took sides. There was a third faction – the supporters of Trabin's daughter Trassela, the child of a yet previous marriage who had died. Trassela apparently detested both of her father's women. Clemelly giggled.

"I'm clever enough to get on the steward's staff. Not only does he hold himself impartial, he's too vital to the running of the Hold for anyone to mess with his people!"

M'gol managed to sound admiring; and claimed that he was supposed to check in with Tragen for orders. Clemelly pouted; and M'gol felt no urge to either give her a suggestive wink or chuck her under the chin. Frankly, pretty though she might be, she did not attract him! Besides, he could here in his head the disapproving sniff that he knew J'nara would give!

M'gol had much to think about as he made his way back to Tragen's quarters. It appeared that those in power needed to do more than enforce discipline and law in a firm but merciful way… all below would take their tone from those above them – and disharmony above would lead to disharmony below. He shuddered to think of the atmosphere amongst the drudges at Southern Weyr with the continual squabbles between Mardra and Merika. It was, he realised, F'lar and Lessa at Benden and T'bor and Pilgra at High Reaches, backed by R'gar and T'lan that set the tone for the entire weyr.

M'gol was quite overwhelmed by this thought. It seemed that the responsibility of leaders extended far past what they said and into the way they acted.. which meant, he realised, that his own behaviour could have an effect on his own wing.

And Keerana had passed on to him a complaint that one of his young riders had been over insistent in demands of one of Keerana's cooks.

M'gol shook his head angrily to clear it. For this lesson alone it was worth this cold, horrible trip! He resolved to apologise to J'nara for his thoughtlessness over his behaviour towards women. Though he meant no harm or threat, that might not always be perceived – either by the women he flirted with, or those taking their tone from him! Blast the girl – he had to admit she was right!

One thought did, however, brighten his day.

Clemelly had fancied him without knowing that he was a Bronze Rider!

The second day of travel was miserable. It snowed. They had descended far enough off the heights for the flakes to have warmed somewhat; and they fell large, damp and implacable, wet and clinging they penetrated every crevice of clothing and soaked heavily into woollen mufflers. From time to time the wind moaned through narrow gorges and valleys almost like the keening of grieving dragons, and M'gol shuddered. Almost he could have preferred Thread; at least with that old, known enemy he had the chance to fight back!

Z'kan suffered more than M'gol. He had become used to the heat of Southern, and the cold wet was unadulterated misery to him. M'gol sat close to him to share warmth on the occasions they could ride the big troika; and persuaded him to stay aboard when it came time to break trail. He told the others that time at the forge fire had thinned his brother's blood; and as no-one wanted to lose the good health of the smith he was accorded the same courtesies of the jockeys! Z'kan tried to get out to do what he could; for he was a strong, fit man and did not want to be cosseted. But M'gol persuaded him to stay aboard at least for half the excursions, and Z'kan was as grateful as he was angry with himself for a weakness. In private speech he said as much to M'gol; for there were not after all many turns between them. M'gol shrugged.

"But you have seen more suffering than I – to come forward 4oo turns has not done your health any good – I know that you have some problems. And I am used to the cold, for Benden can get pretty chilly. You were at Fort Weyr before – and before you came forward. It's much further south, even without the years in Southern to…"

"To soften me." Said Z'kan bitterly. "I will not be foolish about it, but I must harden myself again. Though I must look to T'ron as I swore to do, I want to do my duty as a dragonman and help out at High Reaches too."

"Not to mention keeping Z'linda happy!" grinned M'gol. Z'kan sighed. He was missing his new weyrmate; but conversations via their dragons helped. Z'linda had decided that it would be better for them to eschew all contact during this trip, to make it easier for Z'kan to keep in role. Moreover, she was close to the danger time in her pregnancy, and she would not therefore risk their child by going **between**. It did not, however, thought Z'kan, make it easy to feel charitable towards M'gol right now; though his thoughtfulness did help assuage the resentment! Z'kan managed all he could, taking out his anger at his inability to take cold on the offending snow they shovelled, warming himself with hard work and – so said M'gol – raising the surrounding temperature with his blistering imprecations. M'gol was quite impressed by his colleague's imagination and fluency!

It seemed to take forever to reache High Reaches Hold in the interminable, hypnotic swirling grey. As they climbed again, the flakes grew smaller, drier, stinging rather than clinging and the path was icy and treacherous. All fell at least once, and M'gol respected even more D're's trek to the Weyr with his fair of invalid children. The man was a fardling Hero! At first. M'gol had been uncertain what to make of D're's Impression of Bronze Esruth, seeing only the devil-may-care trader that the man Daire had used to hide behind. Now he saw just how much bravery the one-legged Ruathan had – well worthy of the only Bronze of that clutch! He said as much to Z'kan; and the Brown rider nodded.

"Bravery – and compassion. They're needed in a Bronze rider. For all and any might be weyrleader someday." He commented. M'gol wondered if that were a crack aimed at him – but if it were, it was a justified remark. Though he always did try to be compassionate. Perhaps the comment had not been pointed at all; he was over sensitive that the Oldtimer might be criticising him.

The shout went up from ahead that the Hold was visible as brief glimpses when the snow thinned momentarily; and they pushed on with renewed vogour! At last they were within, out of the biting wind, seeing first to the animals with fingers almost too numb to feel bar the pain in them undoing harness and straps. Numbness warmed to a burning tingle as the beasts had to be rubbed down; and when fed, at last the men could see to their own wants.

M'gol was happy to share a hot bath with anyone who was there; for the first time in his life the concerns of status and privacy took not only a back seat but ceased to exist as concepts in his thoughts. He sighed happily as he immersed into the deep hot water, a sigh echoed all around him by the others!

It was soon borne upon M'gol that the larger the political entity, the more likely aberrant behaviour was to occur in a sub unit.

Attitudes might very well come from the top; and Lord Bargen had the reputation for being a fair man. Thus in general was his Hold a fair Hold. But in this huge Hold, Lord Bargen was an august and distant figure, rarely encountered by most. His immediate underlings were hand picked; but of those, one or two had shown poor judgement in picking their own underlings. And it was from these superiors, concerned with day-to-day running of various tasks that the subordinates took their tone. So it was that the kitchen ran harmoniously; as did the stables. Most sub units showed more or less efficiency; but some places M'gol found very badly run. The store rooms functioned for the most part well enough that Kitchen had nothing concrete to complain of, but within the staff, M'gol made mental notes of acrimony and bullying and not a little dishonesty. M'gol started a log book on leaves he had cadged from H'llon, for he felt it would not give Lord Bargen offence to receive a written report of things he was himself unlikely to see. M'gol based his belief on Bargen being hard to offend on T'lana's estimation; but he also reminded himself that the gregarious little weyrwoman was wont to refer to Lord Groghe as 'an old sweetie'.

It was while snooping around the lower caverns of the Hold that M'gol ran into his first real taste of trouble. Coming quietly round a corner in a little frequented wing he was in time to see three men passing what seemed to be packing cases to unseen recipients through a small Thread-shuttered access way. The click of marks being passed back aroused his suspicions; it did not seem to be a regular or sanctioned transaction and M'gol stared transfixed. It did not occur to him to withdraw; indeed he was about to stide forward and challenge these men when one of them turned. His knots showed him to be some kind of supervisor or foreman employed at the Hold, the yellow that took the place of gold for lower ranks and indicated a major hold was intertwined with the distinctive dark blue and tan striped cord that was High Reaches colour. His eyes flicked to M'gol and noted that his jacket bore the simple worker's knot in Northfork's sienna and yellow with the silver strand of a minor Hold; and he scowled in an intimidating way.

"Get the Red Star out of here." He growled to M'gol. "You didn't see nothing, right?" he raised a threatening fist.

M'gol remained rooted to the spot.

"Are you STEALING?" he asked, almost unable to believe the evidence of his own senses, so incensed that anyone should so betray their own Hold and people that his presence of mind completely deserted him. As it happened his outrage could be easily mistaken for simple-minded naivety, and he was to realise this later with relief.

The foreman sneered at his shocked face.

"None of your business, you runner-shit drudge. Now go bend a tail elsewhere." He chose to reinforce his words with a clout to M'gol's head while the dragonman was wondering at the preoccupation with order in his maledictions; and the act of unnecessary and mindless brutality almost caught M'gol by surprise. Without thinking, the tall Bronze Rider blocked the blow effortlessly and let swing with a counter stroke. It connected painfully with the foreman's chin, for the man was too slow to block it and so unskilled he could not ride it. He leaped back and touched a finger to the bloodied lip where it had torn against his teeth. His expression spoke volumes of malevolence.

"You'll pay for that!" he snarled, the blood doing little to improve his ugly expression. "Grab him, you two!"

The other men seized M'gol's arms. He realised that they too were slow; and he fought back, inflicting not insignificant damage. However, just as it seemed he would wrest himself free from them, one produced a knife from his belt; and held it where M'gol could see it, pointing at his throat. M'gol gave up. He might yet win; but if those were the tactics to be used, it represented an unwarranted risk to Luruth!

The foreman unbuckled his belt as the men held M'gol firmly. Again and again he struck M'gol with the buckle end, ripping tunic and skin alike. Then he punched M'gol hard in the kidneys, wringing a groan from the dragonman, hitherto scorning to cry out. Deftly, and obviously with much practise, the men turned M'gol round so that the foreman could hit him hard, twice, in the face.

"Now" the foreman was panting !If you mention this matter and what you saw to anyone, next time I'll fardling well kill you. And all your friends from whatever pokey little Hold you inhabit. You get me?"

M'gol managed a nod. He felt sick and giddy, mostly from the blow to his kidneys, a tender and easily damaged spot for dragonriders as the effect of_ **between**_ on the kidneys could be detrimental. He reflected that he could be needing to use the design T'lan had incorporated into crippled Sh'rilla's riding chair, with the leathern bottle, well insulated, that could be filled with hot water before Sh'rilla took trips _**between.**_ Meantime, he dropped into a defensive squat, his back towards the rocky wall of the passageway. There he managed to ride the savage parting kick that was aimed at him and fall relatively gently.

When the malefactors had gone, M'gol dragged himself to the nearest necessary to retch, and to clean himself up as best he could. Then he made his painful way back to his party. Those who met him in the corridors gave him a frightened look and fled; though M'gol was not sure if they fled from his ghastly appearance or from fear of whoever had inflicted it!

Tragen caught sight of him first as he entered the common cavern given over to Northfork's use and hurried over, catching Z'kan's eye as he did so. They bundled him into Tragen's own room, and the Runnerholder pushed him firmly face down on the bed as he started to soak the tatters of M'gol's tunic away from the drying blood.

"I want to know what happened." Tragen wasted no words. M'gol shrugged, then groaned.

"I caught…three men… stealing." He winced, talking through a bruised mouth. Z'kan handed him a damp cloth to hold on the worst, and he nodded thanks. "One of them hit me to persuade me not to talk. I hit him back. Aahhh!" he sighed with relief as Tragen smoothed numbweed into his wounds. "He was a forman, can you credit that?" he said indignantly "He got the others to hold me – one of them had a knife. Then he beat me while they kept me still. Snivelling coward!" he added. Tragen looked at Z'kan.

"It happens." Said Z'kan. "It's how things that shouldn't get to Southern. And petty pilfering will always occur, even performed by those in positions of trust."

"It wasn't – ouch – petty!" declared M'gol, struggling to rise, and being pushed back down by Tragen. "There were several packing cases going out!"

"Would you recognise them again?" asked Tragen.

"Oh yes" gritted M'gol. "They're recognisable to anyone right now. The foreman has a split lip that should have puffed up nicely; one of his friends has a black eye, and as the third was leaking nicely from his nose, I might just have reshaped it for him" his voice had grim satisfaction. "and if I get that tunnel snake on his own…"

"You'll do nothing – Marthengol." Said Z'kan. "Remember that you are too dim to have run away whenyou saw it first. If I see the man I shall tell him that – and that the dummy will keep silent. You're not here to take on every comer. Put it in your report for Lord Bargen later."

M'gol pulled a painful face; but he nodded.

"I shall have a quiet word with steward Nordar, if you do not mind." Suggested Tragen. "And I will ask him not to act until you are gone."

M'gol got a fair bit of offhand sympathy from the others from Northfork over his battered visage: but the general advice was to stay closer to them in future instead of wandering off in a strange place. It was generally held to be asking for trouble!

"And" said Kirissa "We need you intact and in good shape for the curling. And the first heats are tomorrow morning."

50


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The morning dawned crisp and fine after the snowfall of previous days. The lake had been swept early in preparation for the early curling matches; the first was to take place before the dressage show. When they emerged, M'gol saw to his unholy joy that they had been drawn against a home team involving his new enemy; and begged to be given the same number as the foreman. Kirissa gave him an old fashioned look; but agreed. And when it was Tragen's team's turn to throw second at an End he took the greatest delight in gently knocking the man's puck out of the circle and nestling his own right into good position. Naturally, when the turns were reversed, the foreman tried to do the same to M'gol's pucks; but M'gol was a natural curler and laid protective stones that were hard to beat. The man's frustrated efforts left his team open to Kirissa's skilful final shots which their captain could rarely better! It was Tragen's team that went through, to enter the quarter finals!

M'gol, revelling in his role, could not resist the urge to be childish – and thumbed his nose at the foreman, wiggling the fingers derisively in the time honoured fashion. The man's look boded trouble later – but M'gol had no intention of being caught alone again! He was convinced that he and Z'kan could stand against the bullies, knives or no knives, for with two of them the danger would be reduced considerably!

A small hand caught M'gol's arm and pulled insistently. He swung round, ready for violence, and found himself face to face with J'nara. He felt himself grin idiotically. Her visage was thunderous.

"What have you done to your face, you great oaf?" she hissed.

"It wasn't exactly me doing it" he said ruefully.

"Idiot! You know what I mean!" gently she reached up to touch the red and purple contusions that had swelled his normally handsome features into a temporary travesty of his normal self.

He shrugged and winced.

"I caught some people stealing. They didn't like it and they outnumbered me. It'll be in my report later, green rider."

"You're hurt elsewhere. Quite badly" she bit her lip.

He cupped her chin with his hand.

"Nothing that won't heal, pretty J'nara. At least I really do look disreputable now" he attempted a joke. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes; and M'gol was all concern.

"'Sh, pretty, don't cry!" he put his arms around her. "There, now, there's nothing to cry about – it was me got beaten up, not you!" he smiled at her "No need for your tears!"

"And I don't see why I should cry, either!" she tried unsuccessfully to sound tart. "I did warn you, after all!"

"You did so, sweetheart" he said equably; the more so because J'nara had made no very serious attempt to pull herself from his embrace!

The sneering voice of the foreman interrupted what M'gol had intended to become an exploratory kiss.

"So – you have a girlfriend" he had approached quietly behind them. M'gol let go of J'nara and turned.

"That's 'had' a girlfriend, old boy" he drawled, extemporising quickly. "I lost her to the Weyr. Look at her knots – because if you feel like hurting her, the dragon she rides might just hurt you." He found it unnecessary to add that Rillith was not capable yet of making the journey and that J'nara had had to cadge a lift from another rider; for a weyrling's knots were the same from newly Impressed right until the time they flew Thread for the first time.

The man looked ugly, but backed off.

R'gar appeared on the scene. Good old R'gar, thought M'gol, and sought to catch his friend's one eye.

"There you are, J'nara" said the Weyrlingmaster, apparently ignoringthe other two men. "I was looking for you. What are you doing with these ….oh." he had read M'gol's face; he caught on fast. They had been milk brothers and had known each other for more than 30 turns after all! R'gar went on, "You, I've told you about hanging around her before. Hold to Hold and Weyr to Weyr. She's weyrfolk now, and if she'd wanted you before she'd not have come on search. Now get out!"

Hiding a smile, M'gol got, heading for his companions while muttering incoherently. R'gar gave the foreman a sharp, suspiciousl look an ushered J'nara in another direction.

"Closeish" murmured Z'kan, who had been watching. "I was wondering if I would have to come and help rescue the fair maiden!"

M'gol grunted. What puzzled him was how the foreman could hold a grudge for what had been a gentle revenge for his painful beating. It had only been a game, after all!

Morill came cheerfully into supper at the end of that first day, swinging bouncily into his seat at the table allotted to the folk of Northfork.

"Got a compliment on my driving and your runnerbeasts, Tragen!" he commented happily.

"Oh?" the holder raised an eyebrow.

Morill chuckled as he helped himself to a ladleful of stew and a bread roll.

"Sure, t'was a bit of a back handed compliment, now, I admit!" he declared. "Some creep tried to buy me off. Offered me two dozen marks to throw the race!"

Several people gasped. Two dozen marks was a lot of money, after all – enough to buy a racing runnerbeast of fair pedigree, or two working runners and their harnesses if he were not too fussy about the age and quality of the leathers!

Tragen grunted.

"He's a cheapskate as well as a crook. That's probably about the going rate for a bribe, and there are too many short sighted jockeys willing to take it. He undervalues you; you're worth at least twice that for the troika race."

Morill grinned.

"Thanks – I think. Are you suggesting I should tell him so?" he joked.

Tragen gave him a grim smile.

"I've laid out a bundle on you. You'll split the prize money the way we always do. And I should hope that you've bet on yourself too."

"Yes I have. I'm not a fool, Tragen, and even if I were dishonest, I'd be a complete idiot not to realise I can do better for myself by sticking with you than by a few uncertain bribes. Once it's known a jockey can be bought he doesn't last long. Short term riches is no substitute for long term comfort. I told the creep to get lost _**between**."_

Tragen nodded.

"Be careful." He warned. "These types don't like taking 'no' for an answer. And although our favourite weyrwoman cleaned out a load of organised crookery, there are still plenty of freelance creeps about."

Morill grinned unconcerned and waved his bread roll in a vaguely dismissive gesture; and M'gol and Z'kan exchanged glances. Z'kan already intended to make sure he kept a closer eye on M'gol now he had made an enemy, and now it seemed they both needed to watch out for Morill! The look they exchanged carried unspoken agreement; and it would, of course, work both ways: for then Morill would always be nearby if M'gol ran into trouble. A little man, like all jockeys, Morill was aggressive enough, but not such a fool as to take on fights he could not win, and stayed clear of most trouble in deference to Tragen's preference that his jockeys remain undamaged! Nevertheless he was shrewd enough to realise when to run for help. Z'kan wondered at the man's underestimating the risk here; or perhaps he relied on his speed and agility to keep him from harm. Tragen reiterated his warning to take care to all before they turned in for the night; and all nodded dutifully. Somehow, Z'kan and M'gol doubted that Morill would take as much care as he was going to need!

Next day saw M'gol hurrying to dress in the bathing room after the mare for whom he was responsible had been doing her best to be difficult. She had blown into her breakfast, upset the pail of water he had brought her, and finally as the ultimate insult, raised her tail to cover him, with unerring accuracy, with ordure. M'gol was swearing quietly to himself as he found himself more and more behind Morill; he had told Z'kan to go on ahead, and unwillingly the brown rider had agreed. M'gol was just fastening his belt when Kren strolled into the bathing room. The big tow headed groom grinned self-consciously.

"Seen Morill?" he asked casually. Too casually.

M'gol liked the lad, who reminded him somewhat of H'llon; but he did not want to make an erroneous judgement based on that. He shot Kren a shrewd look.

"See here, m'lad, if you have the same idea as me and my brother – to look out for Morill's back – then we'd best get together. If – don't take offence – if you are working for someone else, don't even try, because Zak and me can cream you." He said laconically.

"You're following him to protect him too? No, I don't take offence. You chaps are new, you don't know how much I owe Morill…he good as brought me up. And I had been wondering if you two were working for someone else…" he looked even more self conscious.

"No, lad, we're not in the outfit to nobble anyone" clarified M'gol. "But you don't have to believe me – ask Tragen. He knows all about our backgrounds."

Kren flushed and shrugged.

"If Tragen trusts you, that's good enough for me. We'd better find Morill else he'll give us the slip."

"My brother has him in sight, he was heading for the dining room. But I wishyou will check with Tragen. I might be lying, you know."

Kren grinned.

"I usually know" he said. "And I didn't doubt you deep down. Only in a big place like this, things get a little uncertain at times."

M'gol nodded.

Z'kan took klah and fruit to the other end of the table to Morill. He did not much like the look of the four large people propping up pillars in the eating cavern and hoped that M'gol would arrive soon. He raised an eyebrow when M'gol arrived, accompanied by Kre; but confined himself to a mild,

"You took some time."

"Kren's on the job too." M'gol said, succinctly. "We had to sort out what side we were both on."

Z'kan grunted.

"You'll not have time to eat. Morill's finished."

M'gol grabbed a handful of pasties, passing half to Kren to eat on the move. Z'kan motioned them to stay a moment, to let the thugs move out first. They detached themselves from their pillars as Morill left and strolled with exaggerated nonchalance in the same direction.

"Go." Said Z'kan as they rounded the door. Cautiously the three young men followed, walking on the edges of their feet for silence, though the footfalls of the big jolly boys would probably drown any sound they made anyway. The thugs waited for Morill to enter the little traversed passageway that led to the quarters assigned to Northfork before they surrounded them. Several heartbeats behind, the three defenders came upon them as Morill, a sickly look on his face, was fumbling surreptitiously for a knife as he backed away.

The fight was short, ugly and wholly satisfying for the Northfork victors. The bully boys fled incontinently from the determined onslaught of two trained dragonmen and a strong young groom. Morill sent hoots od derision after them; he was much relieved that they had been the ones to taking bruising punishment not him!

"Thanks!" he said sincerely. "I sort of hoped Kren would watch my back – I never expected that many! Say, is that what you two mystery types are REALLY for? Employed by Tragen as bodyguards?"

"There is something odd about them" agreed Kren. "Like the way Marthengol keeps forgetting to be foolish when anything is happening."

M'gol pulled a face.

"I find dissembling difficult!" he complained.

"Would it help" said Z'kan "To tell you that although that's not exactly why we're here, Tragen's not averse to us adding back up to his people; and that he knows why we are here? It's more to do with being witnesses than bodyguards. I'd rather not go into it more deeply than that if you don't mind" he added.

Kren said,

"Like I told Marth – if Tragen Knows, that's good enough for me" he held his hand out to shake. Taking it, M'gol said,

"I should like to tell you about it – both of you – but not just now. I think you have a right to know, but not as yet, a need to know."

"No pressure!" nodded Morill. "Of course, we're curious – but it'll wait. Thanks for being around – you've saved MY bacon!"

M'gol returned to the eating room for a more leisurely breakfast, then sauntered out into the chill grey morning for the second round of the curling.

His dragonrider senses trained to near precognitive pitch made him jump aside as a heavy weight, in fact a curling stone, crashed to the ground beside him, narrowly missing crushing his right shoulder. M'gol leaped away from the cliff face to stare upwards at the higher windows; but all he could see was a fair of firelizards disappearing within.

The firelizards were H'llon's. he was at the Gather for the early shift of M'gol watching, with R'ben and as a passenger, T'rin. T'rin's little white Prism had already disappeared after the manthey had all seen drop the stone at M'gol; the dragonriders were hurrying to cover all conventional exits and close on their quarry guided by their firelizards' senses.

M'gol did not notice the riders; he had been too preoccupied trying to get a look at his assailant. He dismissed the idea that lizards could carry such a weight; but if they belonged to his attacker, thenhe must be a manof substance! Utterly uninterested in firelizards, M'gol could scarcely tell one from another when the creatures were stationary and close to – let alone flying at a distance! Thus his deductions began from an erroneous basis, leading him to conclude, in the light of the attempted beating of Morill, that someone also wanted to influence the curling by taking out Northfork's unexpectedly good new fifth member. This being so, it was a furiously determined M'gol who stepped out to play and proceeded to surpass himself! Northfork stormed through every end in a whitewash match that stunned their opponents!

"You're on good form" complimented Kirissa.

M'gol grinned savagely.

"No-one's going to spoil our chances by violence!" he said enigmatically.

"What?" asked Kirissa.

"M'gol did not get the chance to explain; a man wearing the knots of a senior member of staff of the High Reaches Hold came up.

"Marthengol?" he asked.

"Yes, sir?" M'gol wondered what he wanted, but remembered the honourific.

"Lord Bargen requires your testimony over the attack on you earlier. He also wants an explanation of what could have led up to this violence."

M;gol was willing enough to comply.

"Certainly, sir." He said.

Lord Bargen sat in his hall on a big stone chair on a dais. Other functionaries sat at the side of the dais, one of them taking notes of all proceedings in a neat, crabbed hand. M'gol's enemy, the foreman stood at one side before Lord Bargen , with a hunted expression on his face. He shot M'gol a look of pure hatred as the Bronze Rider came in. on the other side were ranged H'llon. R'ben and T'tin, arms folded and faces implacable. H'llon's firelizards mostly clung to him, chittering at the foreman from time to time. Prism, nervous of proceedings, had retreated into T'rin's tunic front. M'gol's escort marched him up to the dais; and M'gol bowed low. Light had dawned as he recognised his he blurted out,

"So it was only him – not an attempt to fix the curling!" he added belatedly, "My lord!"

Bargen leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"What is this?" he queried intently.

M'gol looked sheepish.

"My Lord, there have been rumours of race fixing…someone failed to beat up one of our jockeys after trying to bribe him. I thought the attack on me was an attempt to cripple our curling team. It never occurred to me that this man could hold so firm a grudge that he would want to hurt me again!" M'gol lifted a hand to his still painful face, touching the bruises tenderly.

"Tell me the history of your quarrel with this man – I want both sides." Demanded Lord Bargen. "It is his contention that you enacted an unprovoked attack upon him and he feared you. His face bears that out to some extent – but you look somewhat the worse for wear than him. Which as you are the larger of the two seems mightily unlikely." He did not add that M'gol's training also made it unlikely, for H'llon had privately apprised the Lord Holder of M'gol's true identity..

M'gol pulled a face.

"It gets a little complex, My Lord" he warned.

"Then take your time to make it clear."

M'gol sighed inwardly. He had hoped to just pass on a report on the way out, to save Tragen too much trouble. He had really to start at the beginning.

"My Lord, I met this man for the first time by accident, when I happened upon him and his two friends who were clandestinely selling stores out of the Hold through a side entrance to persons I could not see."

"It's a lie!" screamed the foreman. "He's lying! I hold a position of trust!"

Lord Bargen gave him a level look and he subsided.

"Continue" said the Lord Holder.

M'gol regained his thread.

"The man there threatened me. I did not immediately withdraw and he hit me. I hit him back. He ordered his men to grab me, and I continued to fight until one of them pulled blade. They don't look so pretty either." He added with some satisfaction. Lord Bargen's mouth twitched. M'gol's face darkened as he continued: "Using the steel to subdue me, he had his friends hold me so that he could administer a beating. I was left with the threat that my companions would suffer if I reported the incident, so I determined not to do so until it was time for us to leave the Hold. When my team was drawn against his in the curling, I felt some measure of satisfaction in being able to gain a degree of revenge for my lumps by beating them hollow, and I confess I also pulled a childish face at him. After this…"

"There's more?" Bargen was aghast.

"Not much, My Lord." Grinned M'gol. "It was only that he approached a woman I was speaking with, in my estimation with threatening behaviour in mind, though nothing happened; as I was able to point out that the woman in question was from the Weyr, as he could see from her knots. That's all."

M'gol had not intended the subtle rebuke that suggested that Weyrfolk were safe away from home whereas those Beholden to Lord Bargen were not. Lord Bargen's face stiffened slightly.

"All? It's quite a catalogue. And serious charges too." Bargen believed the charges; Bronze Riders did not lie. Indeed, he had to admire the restraint of this really rather important man in not calling in his friends to take the law into his own hands. Many would have done. And although he resented the rebuke he took M'gol's point about risking Tragen and his people; it was difficult to keep total control in such a huge number of people, especially during a Gather. He continued, "Bronze Rider H'llon, Brown Rider R'ben and Blue Rider T'rin personally witnessed this latest attack on you and brought this man to me." He indicated the foreman with the wave of a hand. "They have also vouched for your honesty and character."

M'gol could swear he saw a grim twinkle in the Lord Holder's eye: so his colleagues had told him, then. He smiled and bowed.

"It is kind of the dragonfolk to vouch for me" he said.

"Very well. now I have your deposition I shall look further into the background. What can you tell me of the beating of your jockey friend?" he asked.

M'gol shook his head.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, all four of them ran away. We did not get the chance to question them about their employer."

"_FOUR!"_ queried Bargen.

"Well, my Lord, there were three of us watching out for Morill" explained M'gol. Several of Bargen's staff chuckled at his assumption that three grooms outnumbered four bully boys! Bargen glared at them and the titters subsided.

"Very well. I shall need to talk to you again later. But for now you may go" he said. M'gol bowed.

"Thank you my Lord" he said, and withdrew.

Lord Bargen was not a happy man. That some of his people should be abusing positions of trust and stealing right under his nose was bad enough; but that they had been caught by a dragonman, not by his people, was difficult to swallow. Bargen was prepared to meet dragonfolk half way; and he had a soft spot for T'lana whose abilities and frank manner led him to like and respect her. He also liked the High Reaches Weyrleader and his lady. If, as young H'llon had said, this was one of T'lana's schemes to educate Bronze Rider M'gol, doubtless there was nothing clandestine intended. However, he would have liked to have been told.

Bargen smote his brow in sudden revelation.

He had been told.

T'lana had visited him to praise Tragen's altruism; and had made veiled but definite reference to Tragen helping out with improving relations between weyr and hold through hospitality.

To take offence at something he had failed to pick up on would be both churlish and childish.

The stealing was another matter; he could vent his anger legitimately against the culprits.

Lord Bargen turned a steely gaze on the foreman.

58


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

M'gol grabbed the other dragonmen as they emerged and persuaded H'llon to go talk to Lord Bargen and arrange a private interview; which task H'llon accomplished rapidly. M'gol carried his written report to the Lord Holder, who squinted to decipher the dragonrider's atrocious handwriting. He perused it with some care, raising his eyebrow from time to time at the contents.

"And does a copy of this go to your Weyrleader?" he asked, trying to keep the ice from his voice. M'gol looked surprised.

"Shards, no, My Lord! It's not really his business, is it?" he asked. "I expect I'll make an informal potted report – if these race fixing types are abroad, it'd be worth while our people looking out for them at all Gathers so's we know to pass a quiet word to the wise. I only wrote a log because it seemed courteous – after all, I'm poking around in the bowels of your Hold and the least I can do is let you know what I turn up there, right?"

Bargen visibly thawed. M'gol seemed as incapable of real dissembling as H'llon; and it was nice to think that he considered this 'none of T'bor's business'.

"You don't feel that Weyrs should be involved with law enforcement then?" he asked.

M'gol frowned thoughtfully.

"I think there should be more contact between Weyr and Hold, Sir. We should all work against those who would bring disharmony. I think we should be people before we are Holderfolk, Weyrfolk or Crafterfolk and each should pass information about to avoid those caught and condemned in one place being able to just move on and do the same elsewhere. I apologise if my personal views offend you. I do not apologise, however for coming here – which is what you are unhappy about, isn't it?" he asked bluntly. The Lord Holder gave him a direct look.

"Perhaps a little" he admitted. "But I like honesty and openness. I had rather hear your views than leave them unsaid. I have been told something of your reasons for visiting."

M'gol grinned.

"I had not realised how ignorant and insular a weyrbred rider could become" he confessed. "I have learned a lot, and I'd certainly recommend the experience of stepping into a different background to anyone thus sequestered. It's also been good fun" he grinned "Despite the knocks. But it was not intended any more than my report is intended as any kind of slight to you or your steward. Different backgrounds give an entirely different perspective on things. Of course, you have had a varied life, especially under Fax, so you are widely experienced – it's a drastic way of getting life experience" M'gol grinned at Lord Bargen and got a rather grim smile back "But it gives you a perspective that helps you to be one of the best Lords Holder around. If you don't mind me passing on dragonfolk opinion."

Bargen smiled.

"It were difficult to mind a compliment of that order" he said dryly "Though some might take it the wrong way."

"Me and my big mouth!" declared M'gol ruefully. "I always try to say the right thing but it doesn't always come out framed as tactfully as clever people like T'bor put it. That's why I'm playing the part of a halfwit so I can be forgiven my little lapses" he continued "At the weyr, we hold you in the greatest respect, that was all I was trying to say. You may not always agree, but you always give dragonfolk a fair hearing, and tell us why you don't agree. That's always appreciated."

The Lord Holder smiled, a quite genuine smile.

"Thank you, Bronze Rider" he said.

"I want you to know" hurried M'gol "That the Weyr does not intend to interfere; I would, however like to take the opportunity to suggest that you may want to plant people of your own in quiet subordinate positions to keep watch. I would also like to say that the main function of the dragonriders is to serve. And when this pass is over, it seems to me, and to others, H'llon among them, that in order to avoid the situation we had at the end of the Long Interval, the Weyrs had best stop sitting on their dignity and find other ways to be useful. And checking up on renegades could be one of those ways. It will, after all, be easier to live Holdless then."

Bargen looked thoughtful.

"There is much in what you say" he mused. "But it is not, I think, the right time to put such views out too generally. As I have said, I prefer to have things in the open, but change must not be precipitated quickly. It is possible that informal links based on personal mutual trust and friendship may grow into custom. More than that I cannot see happening at the moment."

With that, M'gol had to be content; but it was a start. He was not as pessimistic about the fate of the weyrs at the end of the Pass as gloomy H'llon, who feared for the future of dragonkind should there be a pattern of lengthening intervals – but nevertheless, he had no desire to feel useless once the Pass was over. By all accounts, T'ron and the other Oldtimers had been only too willing to give up a life of boredom to come forward, though the excesses of continuing to fight Thread after so long _**between**_ seemed to have addled some of their yolks! If a different set of challenges were available, M'gol felt sure that the commons would be less likely to resent tithing!

M'gol's companions from Northfork quizzed him, of course, about his visit to the Lord Holder; he told them quite truthfully that it had been to lay evidence over the murderous attack by the dishonest foreman, that had enabled him to talk about the stealing too.

"You were lucky the dragonmen witness him throwing that thing at you" said Kirissa. "Else his word would have been against yours, and with his rank… nasty."

"There's a lot of dragonmen about this Gather" put in Kren. "They're quite knee deep - almost an epidemic of them!" he added cheerfully.

M'gol had noticed it too, and was not sure whether to be flattered by having so much protection, or annoyed!

One dragonrider M'gol was pleased to see turned up as a passenger on H'llon's Bronze Melth. He recognised J'nara's trim figure despite the furs, and was pleased to see she had her hair loose, whipping in the wind.

It was not that he had exactly MISSED her the previous day…and of course Rillith could not be left too long too often.

But this was the day of the semi finals and finals of the curling: and it would be nice to think she might be willing him on.

J'nara flashed him a shy smile as she passed; and he was glad to see her at the curling pitch. J'nara cheered and cheered for Northfork, her face glowing with cold and excitement. Her loose hair tumbled in heavy ringlets, her most attractive feature, next to her sweet face, M'gol thought. Her ringlets fell, he thought, like waterfalls of pure sunlight, right past her rank knots, so thick they hid them!

Morill winked at M'gol.

"Pretty girl there looks like she fancies you" he said, as they received the cheers of the crowd after winning the semi final.

M'gol blushed, and Morill chuckled, digging him in the ribs with an elbow. He called to J'nara,

"You want to have a go, miss?"

J'nara flushed slightly, but came over willingly. As someone other than M'gol had spoken to her, she felt she would not be breaking his cover.

"I've never played before" she confessed.

"Let me show you how it's done" Morill winked at M'gol behind J'nara's back – and M'gol wondered if he meant it as a lesson to J'nara in curling – or, great irony! As lesson to himself in flirting!

J'nara seemed to enjoy her lesson, laughing with the team as they corrected her technique.

"Ah, my pretty, we shall have to be careful!" laughed "Morill. "For you learn fast, and its beating us next turn you'll be if you join your Hold's team!"

J'nara opened her mouth to explain, but shut it again. She knew that if they knew her to be a dragonrider the team would immediately feel constrained to be respectful, and she would lose the cheerful camaraderie. As it was, she was able to stay with the team for bubbly pies and wine while they waited for the rink to be prepared for the final. She and M'gol were both careful to be no more than ordinarily polite to each other; neither wanted the team to become suspicious that they already knew each other! As a result, J'nara spoke mostly to Morill, who was happy to flirt with a pretty girl who blushed so becomingly!

"So, what do you think of our Marthengol?" asked Morill slyly, aware that it had been M'gol she had first been looking at. J'nara's colour rose a fraction, and she looked down at her hands.

"He seems nice enough" she said softly, glancing sideways at the handsome dragonrider. Morill laughed and put an arm around her.

"Take the advice of uncle Morill" he said in a mock avuncular way "And ask Tragen if you can come work at Northfork – and we'll try and hang onto our Marth and his brother for you."

J'nara laughed, less embarrassed by such outrageous flirting than she would have been before the weyr gave her confidence, and skilfully extricated herself from the jockey's embrace. M'gol gave him a Look, but Morill grinned unrepentantly. J'nara said reprovingly,

"Indeed, and you have not even ascertained what skills I have before inviting me to work with you. For all you know I may be scared of runnerbeasts and hopeless at housework!

"Sure, but you've one VERY valuable skill!" quipped Morill; and she looked at him askance. He added, "Curling!"

J'nara shook her head, laughing despite herself; and Morill was emboldened to continue,

"If you're not as keen on Marth as I thinkyou might be, why, remember that we jockeys may not be very tall, but we have a lot of other things going for us!" he winked broadly.

J'nara smiled brightly.

"Yes, the smell of runner manure!" she said.

M'gol gave a crack of laughter.

"And an oversized….ego!" he added.

Morill pulled a hurt look.

"I'm desolate!" he claimed. He glanced up. "And it's almost time for the final!" he added. "You'll be cheering us on and bringing us luck, I trust, pretty girl?"

"Oh I think so." She said coolly.

"Good." Put in M'gol, emphatically.

Morill's outrageous flirting had been noticed in other quarters. On the part of the dragonfolk her ease amongst M'gol's new friends had been noted, and intervention ruled out as unnecessary.

In other quarters her apparent easy familiarity with Morill brought ideas, and plans.

M'gol was aware of J'nara's encouragement through the match; and he was playing for her as well as the team. It was a tough match, against a team from the Beasthold attached to High Reaches Hold. The Beastholders played solidly, without hurrying, and with great accuracy. Kirissa urged her men not to be impatient nor to be fooled into erratic shots by these 'Bovine Heads' as she called them!

"We've beaten them before" she reminded them.

Only at the final end were things decided; and by the merest whisker, Northfork won! The team was surrounded by cheering well-wishers, and hoisted shoulder high by Northfork's burly grooms! It took a while for M'gol to extricate himself from the crowd to go look for J'nara.

By which time the blonde weyrwoman was nowhere to be seen. M'gol felt a sudden empty feeling. Surely there was a good explanation – maybe Rillith had needed her rider, and J'nara had not had time to let him know? Or maybe there was Thread falling somewhere and H'llon had insisted on taking her back to the safety ….but no, there were dragonriders about that he knew…

M'gol was seriously uneasy.

Meanwhile, Morill erupted from the crowd, and stood, staring bemused at a note on a dirty scrap of hide passed to him by an ageing beggar.

"What is it?" M'gol asked almost mechanically. Morill shook his head, puzzled.

"I'm confused." He frowned. "It says that if I want my lover back intact I should throw the troika race tomorrow. But…."

The world spun for M'gol; and he turned white. Quickly he reached for Luruth's comforting thoughts.

_**Bespeak Rillith – how is her rider? Where is her rider?**_

_ Rillith is unhappy. Her rider's thoughts are strange. She is not asleep but she is?_ relayed Luruth, puzzled.

M'gol gave vent to a blistering oath. Morill blinked. M'gol turned to him.

"Quick – we must get Kren and Z'kan." M'gol forgot Z'kan's alias in his fear. "It's J'nara they mean – you were flirting with her, they must have thought she was your woman. Her hair hid her knots." He remembered. "They've drugged her! Rillith can't reach her!"

Morill stared.

"Z'kan? J'nara? Dragonfolk?"

"Blister it., Morill, Z'kan and I are riders. I said I'd tell you later, now is a sooner later than I intended. And we could really use H'llon too." He added, absently asking Luruth to bespeak both Melth and Adeth.

Z'kan was with Kren when Adeth explained; and rapidly he filled the young man in. Kren took it in his stride; it neither surprised him very much nor disturbed him. M'gol had a harder job with Morill, who was inclined to truculence.

"Why are you dragonfolk spying on us?" he asked belligerently.

"Not on you. Nor even spying, really. Man, I grew up in a weyr – and I found I had a lack of understanding about outside." M'gol was clenching his fingernails into his palms, forcing himself not to scream at Morill. He explained patiently "How can I sit above on my dragon and call myself a protector of Pern if the only acquaintance I have with those I'm supposed to protect is the crown of the heads of people bowing and scraping? I can't hold a conversation that way with someone doing servile! This way I get to meet people properly – and make friends." It was all quite true, though M'gol had never noticed the studied servility until struck by its absence. And if he had been vaguely put out by that at first, common sense had soon prevailed and he had come to enjoy the easy social intercourse with Tragen's people and to find more in common with them than he had thought possible. As a weyrbred rider it was difficult not to feel superior; and of course his job took him into more danger than most could cope with or even dream about in their worst nightmares. Yet still, human feelings remained the same across the social spectrum – and M'gol relished that. He added as Morill calmed down, "Shout about it at me later, Morill, hate me for it if you will – though I'd hate to lose your friendship – but right now, please help me! That's my woman theose misbegotten sons of the Red Star have!"

Morill laid a hand on his arm, indignation evaporating at M'gol's distress, learning for himself that people were people and that dragonmen were human too! M'gol saw the look in his eyes and knew that he had not lost the man's friendship.

"Sorry, lad – I mean sir!" he said.

"No you fardling don't mean sir!" barked M'gol. "By the first egg, have I grown a second head to make me a different person all of a sudden?"

Morill managed a chuckle.

"In a way, Marth – and I'd better stick to that – because from all the tales, your dragon's head is somewhere in there too."

M'gol gave a half smile.

"I'd not thought about it that way….yes, Luruth is always with me. And he's dead unhappy because there's nothing he can do to help with J'nara unconscious and unable to send visualisation through Rillith."

Z'kan turned up with Kren at that moment, rapidly followed by H'llon and his fair of indignantly cheeping fire lizards…

"Melth says Rillith is getting panicky because she can get no clear thoughts from J'nara, but that Luruth is reassuring her; but it means we can't get visuals for Sniffer and Nibbler to go look for her." The young Bronze Rider said without preamble.

"She'll have to wake up sometime." Commented Z'kan coolly. "They can take visualisation then. Even if they drug her right back again, she has to be awake enough to drink."

M'gol gave him a look that bordered on dislike.

"Would you be so objective if it were Z'linda – old boy?" he enquired in a chilly tone. Z'kan raised an eyebrow.

"Well – old boy – I'd like to think so. But probably if I'm honest, not" he admitted. He put a hand on M'gol's shoulder. "But as I'm not personally involved I can be objective enough to think clearly and make plans, right? It's what friends are for."

M'gol nodded, and thumped Z'kan on the arm in a placatory sort of way.

"H'llon, your fire lizards can't find her from a visualisation of her face, can they?" he asked, suddenly struck with the idea. H'llon pulled a face.

"In theory – but if they have her deep in the Hold, with all that rock, we don't know where she's being kept. And if space is close…."

M'gol saw the spasm of horror pass H'llon's face at the thought of one of his beloved pets being caught inside ,or worse half inside rock, and put a hand on his arm.

"Sorry I mentioned it – forget it." he muttered.

"All we can do is wait – and keep checking in through Rillith" said Z'kan dryly. "And we WON'T do that to the accompaniment of wine, M'gol else you'll be in no fit state to look for her." He added as M'gol glanced over at the vintner's stall. "Come – let us go drink klah to clear our heads. They would not risk giving her too much , in case they kill her by mistake" he saw the dreadful look that came over M'gol's face and squeezed his arm. "No, they won't hurt her. They've done it before. They know what they're doing" he assured his distraught friend, hoping that it was true!

64


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

J'nara recovered consciousness in a rough cavern. She lay on a straw filled palliasse. A screen across the corner imperfectly concealed a bucket that was presumably to serve as a necessary. A man sat on a stool in the doorway; he was the same man who had offered her a mug of klah, she remembered, telling her that he had another for her man.

J'nara sat up – and wished she had not. Her head ached and the room swayed in a most disconcerting manner. Quickly she reassured Rillith whom she could feel close to panic, telling her it would be all right. She swallowed hard to hold bacl the nausea, shutting her eyes until her vision cleared, firmly shutting off her discomfort from her little dragon.

The man on the stool spoke.

"Awake? Take it easy, love. We ain't going to hurt you – if all goes well." he said.

J'nara's eyes flashed back open in fury.

"Do you seriously expect to get away with this?" she flared. He shrugged.

"Sure, sweetie. It's been done before. So long as your man does as he's told, you'll be just fine and with him again before supper tomorrow."

J'nara was horrified! Surely, though, M'gol would not submit to any threat – even if it meant her life? She was sure that he would not. A green rider was not like a Queen Rider – for the loss of a Queen would affect the whole Weyr! M'gol could afford to act as he saw fit and if necessary risk her life and Rillith's. . He may feel a partiality for her; but he must also know that she would not want him to shirk his duty, and she was confident that he would not do so. She prepared herself resignedly; but her eyes flashed scorn on her captor.

"Do you really think that you can force a dragonman to do your bidding by threatening a junior weyrling?" she asked, looking down her nose.

The man stared and laughed.

"Dragonman? Weyrling? You've certainly had some strange dreams from that fellis, sweetheart!" he yawned and stretched. "Bit of a different rider you've been imagining, have you?" he leered.

J'nara was confused, not least by the fellis still in her system. She felt for her rank knots in sudden panic, to reassure herself that Rillith and M'gol were not a dream – although of course, Rillith was there, in her thoughts all the time. By this time she had pushed the mass of her hair off her shoulders revealing the distinctive triangular knot of a weyr, dark blue in one strand for High Reaches, green in the other for Rillith's colour.

Her captor's jaw sagged helplessly and he turned grey.

"Ohhh…you mean…?" he whispered in horror. Then he shouted angrily, "Stupid dragon bitch! You did this! You covered your knots to flirt with that fardling jockey – and you'll fardling well stay here so he does as he's told, see?"

"I see." Her voice came from **_between_. "**Although I'm nothing to him."

"I – I'll let you go anyway – whatever!" his voice was wheedling. "Only it's important…"

J'nara watched him, eyebrow raised, half-closed eyes looking down her nose, deliberately copying the expression R'gar assumed when a guilty weyrling was busy talking himself into a corner.

Apparently it worked on adults too.

"My boss will kill me if I let you go…or if he finds out that you're dragonfolk! He's got a load of marks riding on that troika race….Morill has tothrow it, he has to! Jermod's man isn't as good so he has to eliminate Morill…it wasn't my idea, dragonlady. I'll see you have every comfort…"

J'nara found herself cynically amused at the sudden change of attitude; and her mind was working furiously. Jermod was a Ruathan name; but of course many Runnerholders were of Ruathan extraction.

"And if Jermod finds out who I am?" she asked.

He whimpered.

"He'd not hesitate to kill you, lady – and me as well for making the mistake, and to offer to the dragonmen as a scapegoat."

"What would have happened to me if I'd been the holdbound lover of Morill you thought me if he did not comply?" she asked. The man never knew how much his fate rode on the answer.

"I wouldn't have killed her – you – her, honest, lady! I don't hold with killing, I didn't know how ruthless Jermod was until I'd been with him a while, and now I'd be killed if I tried to chicken out! He uses me to look after hostages, he says it's all I'm fit for!" J'nara felt almost sorry for the pathetic creature, but motioned him to come to the point. He went on, "I know a sea captain… he carried Jermod and his beasts too… he's happy to make trips to Southern…they pay for drudges there."

J'nara was hardly sure if slavery to the Oldtimers constituted an improvement on quick death! However, at that moment, two firelizards appeared from_ **between**_. The brown disappeared again, the bronze chirped encouragingly to J'nara and set off for the door.

"My people are looking for me." Said J'nara calmly. More calmly than she felt, it must be admitted, but it had the desired effect of further disconcerting the man.

"H-how…lizards need a visualisation. I didn't see no lizards with you!" he stammered.

"Idiot. They can take visualisations from dragons. MY dragon." J'nara said scornfully as she worked it out, sending thoughts to Rillith of what a clever darling she was! "Surrender to me. I'll tie you up and I'll ask for clemency for you. You HAVE been relatively courteous after all – and you have told me a lot."

Faced by imminent capture by angry dragonmen, the man was only too willing to comply! Everyone knew that weyrfolk took care of their own, and he had visions of being flown to the Red Star and left there! Thus, when M'gol came storming in ready to do battle, he found J'nara sitting calmly on the stool with her captive bound before her.

"You're late." She said.

M'gol's mouth dropped.

"Well I'll be…my brave love!" he declared.

J'nara promptly spoiled her act of coolness by throwing herself into his arms and bursting into tears! M'gol held her tenderly against his chest and murmured soothing and platitudinous nonsense into her hair. It was tickling his nose; and he was wondering how much longer he could manage not to sneeze whilst simultaneously enjoying the sensation of being held close by J'nara: when she pulled back to look up at him; though she did not let go of him!

"The main villain is an owner called Jermod. This man is afraid of him. I've promised to ask for clemency as he has been very co-operative."

M'gol snorted.

"Drugging and kidnapping you? In my book that calls for the sort of clemency that involves merely having me ring his fardling neck!" he said forcefully.

J'nara sighed with contentment at these lover-like remarks, but felt bound to correct her beloved as she leaned against him.

"He's no killer. Just gone the wrong way. Be nice."

M'gol turned a steely eye on the kidnapper, whose eyes were rolling in terror, so terrified he could not utter a sound!

"You know, don't you" said M'gol conversationally, "What I'd do to you if you had hurt my woman?"

The man swallowed and nodded. Sweat ran from him. M'gol smiled.

"Aren't you lucky that she's nice – and you're not such a fool or villain as your boss?"

The man fainted in sheer relief!

While M'gol escorted J'nara back to the dragons, H'llon, Kren, Z'kan and Morill took their prisoner quietly and by back ways to Lord Bargen: they had no wish to alert Jermod or his associates! Kren and Z'kan returned at once to the cave to lay in wait for any confederates bringing food or as relief guards; and H'llon explained the whole to the Lord Holder with the objective succinctness he had cultivated as a proper way for logicators and bronze riders to bear witness.

Lord Bargen was horrified: he had no wish for his Hold to get the reputation for assaulting weyrwoman! H'llon, however, made it quite plain that it was not the status of the kidnappee that made any difference but that the kidnap had taken place at all!

"Although in fairness" he added "I think I must put the request that Bronze Rider M'gol will probably want to participate in the capture of Jermod with the view to enacting violence upon his body before you pass judgement."

Morill, standing at H'llon's shoulder, found his mouth dropping open in surprise to find that Mathengol – M'gol – was not just any rider but a BRONZE rider; and he swallowed hard several times.

Bargen was in something of a quandary. He wanted to see justice done; but he also wanted to hush up he fact that once again a weyrwoman had been abducted!

"Perhaps it would be fairer to hand this man over to the Weyr." He suggested cautiously.

H'llon shook his head implacably.

"That could only be seen as arbitrary, My Lord, and would cause resentment." He said. "He must be seen to be meted punishment by you – if nothing else as a deterrent to others! Far be it for dragonfolk to steal your prerogative. I only asked on M'gol's behalf as he is my friend. It was an improper request. I apologise." He bowed.

Bargen did not grind his teeth. Quite. H'llon was proper beyond the bounds of what was convenient. Anyone less correctly behaved would have leaped at the chance!

"Thank you, Bronze Rider." He managed, between his teeth.

"You're always welcome, My Lord!" said H'llon, happily, noticing nothing untoward in Barge's manner..

"Perhaps the Bronze Rider, as he is in disguise, would like to assist some of his fellows – like jockey Morill here – in bringing the man to me – as my deputies." Bargen thawed enough to make the offer. After all, if it had been his lady…

H'llon smiled sunnily.

"He'd be delighted, My Lord" he agreed.

"It were better" suggested Bargen craftily "That the witnesses true identities not be brought out – after all, the abduction was staged to bring about race fixing. The message to be sent is that such is unacceptable and to introduce the lady J'nara's name would only cloud the issue."

H'llon nodded seriously.

"And there would be those who would say that action was only taken because a weyrwoman was involved." He said. "I know, My Lord, that this is untrue, because you care about ALL your people. But people have nasty minds" he finished mournfully.

Lord Bargen smiled. His day was going to be just fine after all.

"Quite so." He agreed equably.

Proper and upright young men were not such a handicap after all. The lad had been more concerned about the kidnap than who the victim was: Bargen was pleased he had recalled that. Bronze Rider H'llon was almost dangerously honest and honourable: but he was open to manipulation too save face!

M'gol, Z'kan, Kren and Morill moved in on Jermod. They had rods of office in their tunics and violence in their hearts.

"Jermod." M'gol spoke softly enough, and the man turned.

"Who wants me?"

"I do." Said M'gol, grimly.

"And you are?"

"Acting for Lord Bargen" M'gol smiled brightly and showed his rod of office.

"And what has that to do with me?" Jermod was brazen.

M'gol held up a finger and wagged it as he tutted.

"you know, old boy" he knew how much that appellation of Z'kan's grated – "you're a naughty boy. And a very stupid one."

Jeermod affected a sigh.

"If you have something to say, come to the point. Stop passing ridiculous insults or I'll have you thrown out."

M'gol chuckled evilly and tutted again.

"You're naughty because you kidnap women; and you're stupid because you kidnapped the wrong woman. That wasn't Morill's girl you ordered taken – it was mine. And I'm a lot bigger and meaner than Morill."

"You begin to bore me." Said Jermod. He called to his men. "Throw them out." He ordered. "Those batons are fakes. They're bluffing."

Z'kan and Kren turned to deal with the men; the rods they carried were very effective at adding to the power of their blows. Morill used his to poke the melee at random.

M'gol picked Jermod up by the neck of his tunic.

"And now, old boy" he said "You and I are going to discuss how much you revolt and disgust me before I hand you over. Fight."

"I don't fight." Jermod said sullenly. M'gol shook him before letting go.

"Fight!" he reiterated. Jermod sat down on the floor.. M'gol looked down on him with contempt.

"You can only fight women I see." His voice dripped with loathing. "Or wait – you don't even have the courage to fight women. You get your bullies to do it." He turned away in contemptuous rage; for he would not hit a man who did nothing but sit on the floor!

His senses told him to turn; and the icy burning pain of the blade missed his heart and his vitals as Jermod uncoiled like a spring to strike upwards with his belt knife. M'gol reacted instinctively, grabbing the wrist of the runner owner and twisting.. Jermod yelled in pain as radius rolled over ulna and one of them cracked under the strain. M'gol continued to twist until the man was forced screaming to his knees.

The others had more or less finished their battle; the fight had been beaten out of the bully boys who had already been demoralised from the fight of the previous day. Kren was busy tying them up. Morill turned and stared in horror at the blood on M'gol's tunic.

"Oh bejays!" he moaned, swaying.

"Don't go passing out on me now!" snapped M'gol. "Just pretend I'm a runnerbeast that met with an accident and tie this fardling wound up. No, tie this fardling crook up first!"

Z'kan moved in to take charge of Jermod, motioning Morill to see to M'gol. As Z'kan took not the slightest notice of Jermod's shrieks and protests, the man soon subsided into muttering dark imprecations while Morill packed M'gol's wound to staunch the blood. Kren asked

"Are you all right?"

M'gol nodded, wincing.

"Does it hurt? - yes. A great deal." He said. "Did it hit anything vital? – no, I'm fairly sure it didn't. do I want nubweed? Definitely."

Kren grinned weaky and went to find nubweed for his dragonrider friend!

Lord Bargen's justice was carefully thought out.

He had already stripped the thieving steward of his rank and set him to work without pay until he had paid off all he had stolen. The fate of these men was to be as meet, he hoped.

Jermod was stripped of all possessions he had with him; and Bargen awarded them to Morill to be shared out amongst those jockeys who had previously suffered threats, beatings and threats to family as restitution. Jermod was also to be sent back to his home Hold in Ruatha bound and under escort with a formally worded request to Lord Warder Lytol that he may very well wish to undertake further investigations in his own territory. The thugs and accomplices were sentenced to work ten turns each without pay and were distributed amongst wronged owners whose jockeys had been hurt or frightened into losing. J'nara's captive was given the sentence of only five turns; and was turned over to Tragen as he was well known a fair master.

Bargen also dispatched men to bring before him the captain of the ship on which Jermod had travelled. He wished to look further into the allegation that things and people had been smuggled to the Southern weyr. The coincidence of time made him suspicious that this might be the answer to the question of who the crooked steward had been selling goods to!

Generally speaking, the injured parties felt the ending was satisfactory. What the criminals thought probably could not be repeated before civilised folk!

Lord Bargen had strongly intimated that Morill was to take the greater share of Jermod's goods than any other jockey; both as part payment for his sorting out of the fair distribution, and as a reward for having the moral fibre to come forward over the matter. Northfork personnel were getting quite a few citations for moral rectitude, what with Tragen's helping out of the young couple in the avalanche and now this! Bargen wanted it known that he rewarded those who helped the smooth running of the Hold and helped other people. He had added, rather waspishly, that he could hardly be expected to sort out crimes and problems if the victims refused to approach him over them! The result was that Morill was by most people's standards now a wealthy man, with three mares and a stallion all of good blood, each probably worth a minimum of fifty marks for their pedigree! Indeed, some of the other four compensated jockeys were talking about setting up stables of their own, alone or maybe clubbing together. There were unsettled valleys that Bargen would be glad to grant, for he held that there was more fun to be had at the races, and therefore better business from it, if there were many small owners rather than fewer big concerns.

Morill had turned down an offer to join with other jockeys; he found himself perplexed about how to handle his good fortune.. He decided to lay the matter before his fellows at supper, as was Northfork custom, eliciting advice from all from Tragen to the stable boy Keeran. He banged on the table for attention.

"You all know I'm the proud owner of several runner beasts." He declared, holding up his hand for silence as clapping broke out. "And I would not be but for the aid of Kren, z, er, Zakan and Marthengol." He looked around the table. "Now I know that Tragen took on Zakan and Marthengol to look out for trouble" – it was the story they had agreed on, and was not exactly a lie; and M'gol's idiocy act had rather slipped. Morill continued, "So they have their lives to return to and no interest in investment. However, I'd like it witnessed that anything good that comes out of this I'll go equal shares with Kren."

There was thunderous applause and Kren turned pink.

Morill waited for the noise to subside and banged his spoon again.

"WILL you let me finish?" he said testily. "I'm just coming to the point!"

"Hurry it up – I want my bubbly pie!" heckled one of the grooms. Morill glared at him.

"Kren and I are agreed that, not only do we not understand business, we are also Tragen's men." He continued. Tragen tried not to look moved; and failed, having to clear his throat several times. Morill went on "so we're in a bit of a quandary about what to do. We hoped someone might have a bright idea."

M'gol cleared his throat.

"I have a suggestion." He said tentatively.

"Suggest!" said Moril with an expansive gesture.

"It seems to me that the animals you own, and their later value as stud, might balance the expertise of Tragen should he run the business and arrang matings. If all costs were equally shared, then all profits could be equally shared. If you added a wing to Northfork you could be semi independent: and if you put in time to care for and ride Tragen's beasts, his men could share time with yours. I don't know if that's good business sense: but it seems to me good common sense." Suggested M'gol.

"And there's precious little of that about." Said Tragen. "Well, lads, it would suit me if it suits you. Does it seem fair? A third share to me in return for doing all the boring bits. And we will also save by buying in winter feed and leather in larger quantity to split between us."

Kren and Morill laughed at Tragen's sally about doing the boring bits, and on an exchange of looks they nodded. The deal was quickly shaken upon!

"it is a good solution, Marthengol." Said Tragen.

M'gol grinned.

"Always happy to solve a Morill dilemma!" he quipped; then flung up his arms laughing to protect his head as jockeys and grooms leaped to pummel him for the atrocious pun!

Race day could almost have been anticlimactic; save that it was always a big event, full of noise and colour. The weather itself obliged, the sky a delicate eggshell blue and the strong, high altitude sun finding diamond sparkles in the myriad icicles that hung from every overhang. The snow gleamed invitingly, and informal races were soon underway down convenient slopes as soon as any youngsters could get away and cadge the use of anything that would slide!

The racetrack had been marked with flags as the surface was deep under snow; and it was soon thronged with chattering, laughing groups of people, snugly but brightly clad! Hot pie sellers wandersd around the crowds, doing a roaring trade; woodcrafters sold carven replicas of famous racing beasts; bookies took the marks of the ounters, many of them dragon riders. T'bor had been known to comment dryly that it was more than good business sense to hold the Gather on Thread free days: because on race day you'd be hard put to find a dozen smokeless weyrlings to combat it, let alone a full wing!

M'gol enjoyed the races. He enjoyed them the more because Rillith permitted J'nara another day's absence, despite the alarums of the previous day! So, when M'gol was not needed to help Tragen out, the blonde girl snuggled happily within the circle of his arm.. Rillith was safe with Luruth; and if B'lova could not cope with Teegan, there was always Lanelly! There seemed no point toJ'nara to continue to try to dissemble her feelings for M'gol after having thrown herself on him the day before! And if she got hurt, well, that was the way it would have to be. She'd always have Rillith, after all!

M'gol had no intention of any short term affair with J'nara. To his utter surprise he found the prospect of domesticity quite satisfying!

72


End file.
